Full Moon High
by Stone-Man85
Summary: What do you get when you mix werecreatures, Things that go Bump in the Night, and teenagers? Answer: One Big Mess for Everyone.
1. Sins, Beasts, and Choices

**Disclaimer: I don't own Goosebumps; it is the sole property of and Scholastic Books. OCs are of my own designs.**

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_It is said that Even a Man who is Pure of Heart,_

_And says his prayers by night,_

_May become a wolf, when the wolfbane blooms,_

_And the Autumn Moon is Bright._

_Some say that such a thing is the power of Satan. The power to change men into beasts. Or simply a new species of human that bridges the gap between Man and the Animal Kingdom. A Creature that carries within them the power and ferocity of the creature they turn into, with the mind and soul of a human. But if such a being existed… which would be the more dominant half? The Man? Or the Beast?_

_It is said that there is No Sin to Kill a Beast, But there is Sin to Kill a Man._

_So where does one End, and the Other Begin? _

_Or rather… does anything begin or end at all, or just simply a combination of the two?_

_And if it's control or a combination... what would you do with that gift? Use it for Good? Or for Evil?_

_In the End, the choice is all up to us._

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**Full Moon High**


	2. The Joys of Being Me

**Disclaimer: I don't own Goosebumps; it is the sole property of R.L. Stein and Scholastic Books. Original Characters are of my own designs. Locations are real, just made up in some places, so things won't be accurate.**

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**Full Moon High**

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**Chapter 1: Joys of Being Me; A Runt… that Nobody Cares About**

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**2013**

**America**

**Everett, Washington**

Everett was the county seat of and the largest city in Snohomish County, Washington, United States. Named for Everett Colby, son of founder Charles L. Colby, it lay 25 miles (40 km) north of Seattle. The city had a total population of 103,019 at the 2010 census, making it the 6th largest in the state and fifth-largest in the Puget Sound area. It received an All-America City Award in 2002.

Everett was home to the largest public marina on the west coast of the United States, and was the western terminus of the western segment of U.S. Route 2. It was also home to Boeing's assembly plant for the 747, 767, 777, and the new 787 in the largest building in the world by volume at 116.5 million cubic feet (3,300,000 m3). And also one of the most forest-filled states in all of the US. One of those places being Forest Park.

The school was just like any other high school; a relic from the 1950s. With its six story window doorway and impressive six story height, it would have passed on as a combination of a cathedral and a college to anyone else. However, the school was also equipped with the most advanced security system known to most security companies. Its major feature was an all-campus lockdown; meaning, that once the timer went off at the end of the school day, the place locked itself no tighter than the Louvre in France, and Fort Knox, Texas combined. Meaning if someone was locked in there, no one would get out until school opened up the next morning. Teens of all shapes and sizes were entering the school, just as the late bell rang. And one of the teens walking into the building was one of the few attending.

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**Main Hallway**

**Locker Area**

The teen, whom nobody noticed in the crowded hallway, was practically unnoticed to all. He was a young man at the age of sixteen, slim build but not gangly, Caucasian, with black messy hair with bangs on the left side being unkempt, and blue eyes, hidden behind glasses. He wore a black T-shirt, with blue baggy jeans, and red and white sneakers with a blue and black hooded sports authority jacket halfway zipped up, a green long sleeved sweater tied around his waist, and a black backpack on his left shoulder. He was Peter Talbot, a loner and outcast, considering that both his parents were dead, and that he was raised and cared for by his estranged grandfather, Sir John Talbot.

He walked down the hallway, gliding or pushing himself through the crowded hallway. Even when he walked down the hallway, no one seemed to notice as they went to their lockers, to the bathroom to freshen up, or any of that stuff. However, there were kids that looked at him with much disgust or looks that said 'You Don't Belong Here'. But Peter didn't care; in fact, he could care less about what they thought of him. He didn't need everybody to love him; all he had were his friends. And he was meeting up with one near the locker.

He walked over to his locker, but noticed a teen couple was making out over it. He sighed, knowing full well it was gonna be one of those days. As they turned a little, he walked over, and put in his combination, and attempted to open it. Unfortunately, the couple was proving it difficult for him. Though, he managed to get his books out alright, and stepped back, as the making out couple rolled over it closing it.

However, the girl stopped, as she looked at Talbot, disgusted, as she shot out, "Do you mind?"

He shook his head, and walked away, as he got what he needed. He put them in his book bag. But just when he was about to leave, something, or rather someone, had caught his attention.

Opening one of his lockers and putting stuff in and taking stuff out, was a boy his age. The guy was small in height, was also slightly larger, sixteen years of age. He had a slight plump face, despite his slim frame, and had wavy brown hair, which covered his eyes. His hair covers his eyes making his eyes unseeable, despite him still being able to see clearly. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt, a black winter vest with a hood, baggy jeans, and a pair of white and black sneakers. He was also in the possession of a camera, digital in its design, and a shoulder pack with camera equipment. His name was Michael Corvis, Peter's best friend, photographer, as well as an expert in getting 'gold' for him and the boys.

Once he was close, he smirked and patted his friend on the back, a friendly greeting or two, "Hey, Mikey!"

Mikey turned and smirked, "Hey, Peter." The two gave each other a high five, and a bear hug, as the two greeted over, "So, you excited about Spring Break?"

"Oh, plenty of it," Peter smirked, as Mikey finished with his locker, and the two walked over to homeroom. "I'm thinkin' about hitting the arcade for almost the whole week. Topped with movie going, Barnes n' Nobels, added with just sleeping in."

Mikey looked to his friend, completely credulous, as he groaned, "Dude. We need to get you to go outside more."

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**Homeroom**

Class 3-A was one of the most teen-filled classrooms ever, and had the reputation of being filled with the most rambunctious, mischievous, most intelligent, as well as problematic students in all the school's history. That and it was slightly the strangest. There were exchange students from either Arabia, China, or Africa. Underage students or students that looked underage. But other than those things, it was not your typical classroom, although a school having a security system like a lockdown system similar to Fort Knox and the Vandicut Asylum for the Criminally Insane wasn't all that normal either.

As Peter and Mikey entered the room, they took notice of their classmates. Among them, was a trio of trouble, who were extremely easy on the eyes.

She was a blonde Caucasian of sixteen, with a slender body to die for, blonde hair that went down her back, with bangs dangling down her neck and touching her chest, with a few bangs swept to the right, never even covering her dazzling green eyes. You could tell she was rich from the way she dressed, which was a lacey white shirt, a red vest, and a satin black skirt that was loose enough for movement and ended at her knees, with leather boots. Her name was Ashley Norwest, Peter's class rep, a rich girl from a clean financial family, member of the Flower-Arrangement Club, and the high school beauty queen.

The second girl was another drop dead beauty, with dark tanned skin and long black hair, Pouter-Rican/American, sixteen years old, and dazzling brown eyes. She had a slender figure, with a silent girl attitude to her. She wore a black turtleneck sleeveless shirt that clung to her chest, a white leather jacket that ended above her belly button with her sleeves rolled up mid her forearms. Blue jeans that clung to her thighs, and boots as well. Her name was Maria DeBlanca, head of the archery club.

The third girl accompanying them was perhaps the third beauty among them. She appeared Caucasian, fifteen years of age, with long pink hair, with two long bangs going down each side of her head, with her actual hair extending to her waist. Her eyes appeared to be colored pin, matching her hair. She was a girl of average height and slim; her boobs were rather small though. She wore a blue mini-skirt and a long sleeved white top, and a brown belt dangling around her waist, and had a turtle-shaped backpack. Her name was Sarah Pattrel, the school billionaire girl, as well as another cheerleading beauty.

The Beauty Trio was what they were called. They were part of the top ten hotties, but the three were also the most ruthless when it came to picking on the less-popular, namely Peter. But even though he didn't have a chance with her, he couldn't help but steal a glance at her. Even though he was a loser, he was like every boy in the school: he found Ashley to be a real knockout beauty. Unfortunately, the perfect beauty… was dating the perfect scum boyfriend.

And unfortunately, he happened to be in the room, bump into Peter, and grab him by the collar of his shirt. He was a cacuasian of seventeen, a centimeter taller than Peter or Mikey, with dirty blonde hair curled and short, blue cold eyes, and with a look reading 'I kill you on sight'. He was dressed in a tight long sleeve blue shirt, dirty blue jeans, a black watch, and combat boots. His name was Roland Zellinski, a foreign exchange student from Paris, a member of the Lacrosse Team, and a major asshole and sadist. And he was about to prove it, by throttling Peter.

"Hey, Roland," Peter managed to wheeze out. "How's it hangin'?"

"Do not play a fool with me, Talbot. I saw you looking at my woman," Roland hissed out, as he smashed Peter on a vacant desk. And then, to Mikey's and Peter's horror, he pulled out what appeared to be a diamond Lacrosse championship ring… and dug the diamond tip in Peter's neck, scratching a cut across his neck. Blood drew out, but it wasn't enough to kill him, just scar him, as Roland threatened, "A woman like Ashley is out of your league. I ever see you near her again, as such. I'll kill you…"

"Roland, enough!"

Both boys turned, as did Mikey, and saw Ashley standing with her hands on her hips, and looking silently PO'ed at Roland. She turned to Roland next, fixing her with a cool gaze, "Put him down Roland! I don't really care if you want to make a fool of yourself, but I won't let you bring down the rest of the class along with you." As Roland was slowly giving into her, Peter was a bit stunned, as Ashley was sticking up for him. But all that shattered as she finished, "If you want to beat him up, do it after school. The last thing I want is to have my boyfriend suspended before the Sadie Hawkins dance at the end of April."

Roland, after a moment of pause, pulled Peter back on his feet, and whispered to him a threat, "You ever go near her again… and it will be more than just a scar. I will finish you." He then hissed at him, almost to the point of biting his nose off, and walked back to his seat.

Mikey ran over ot Peter, and pulled out a paper towel, pressing it on his wound, "Here, apply pressure and it should stop the bleeding." Peter nodded, as the two sat down in their desks, which were next to each other. As Peter applied it, Mikey shook his head, "Boy, if Christie sees you with that, she'll probably flip out at Roland."

"Yeah, maybe," Peter groaned, as he pressed the towel to the cut, "So long as Roland doesn't try and hit on her."

"Nah, I doubt it," Mikey shook his head, "Roland's an asshole, but he's not an asshole in heat." Peter gave him a credulous look, and for a moment, Mikey finally gave up, "Okay, so he's a sceevy horndog of an asshole. But look at it this way, he's got his eyes on Ashley. Who for the love of me can't figure out why a smokin' hot classy girl like her, is dating the high school's douche bag of the year."

Peter shrugged, as he gave his hypothesis, "I think she does it because she thinks she can change him. She's one of those people who try to see the good in almost everyone."

Mikey arched an eyebrow at Peter, then to Ashley, and then finally to Roland. At the moment, Roland tripped over another student who was passing by, and made threatening glares at them. Mikey looked to Peter, who also had the same look, and whispered, "I think she's got a chance to change him… when Hell freezes over."

"I still can't figure out what she ever saw in that guy," Peter shrugged. Not even sure if he wanted to know what she saw in him.

Suddenly, somebody burst through the door, and leaned on the rim of the open door, wheezing for air. she was a caucasian girl was around fifteen years of age, with a slim and slender figure. She had clear skin, and long flowing bright auburn brown hair that went down her back and tied in a long ponytail, with the front of her hair brushed to her right. She had bottle lens glasses that hid her brown eyes, and she was currently glued to a tiny handheld computer in a shoulder backpack slung on to her left shoulder. She wore a black hooded T-shirt with a slim red sweater jacket halfway zipped up, a red mini-skirt, and long red and white striped stockings, with white sneakers. She was Christine Argent, a hacker in her profession, nerdy girl, and friend of both Mikey and Peter. But she was Peter's first friend since he had moved to Everett, since he was seven.

She straightened herself out, and calmly walked into the classroom, and past the Beauty School Trio, and back to where Peter and Mikey were. She waved to them, "Hey, guys…" and sat down behind Peter, as she silently counted down to one, until…

RIIIIIIIIIINGGG!

She nodded in accomplishment, "And made it with time to spare." as soon as she looked at both boys, she smirked and waved to them, "Hey, guys. The day can begin." She then winked at Peter, "Morning, Peter."

Peter nodded, "Morning, Christie." Once they said their hellos, class began, as the lesson started. However, as the lesson started, Christie looked at Peter's back for a moment, and lightly blushed. It appeared that if anyone cared to notice, Christine had more than just friendship for Peter… but he didn't see it, or was too dense to notice it.

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**Lunchtime**

**Cafeteria**

All the students were getting their lunches from the serving area, while most of them sat down with the lunches they did bring. Peter, Mikey, and Christine had gotten their trays from the serving line, and sat alone at an empty table. They didn't really sit next to anyone, but to them it was okay; no one ever did sit with the three, even back in middle school. Christie took out a book entitled, the Beast of Geavudean, opened it, and read as she ate.

It was while they ate, they noticed Ashley, Maria, and Roland walk in, along with a few jocks. Sarah walked along with her left arm slung around the right arm of a teenager around her age. Like Peter and Michael, he was a Caucasian sixteen-year old with short cut Black Brown hair, military style, but had a few strands of tussles sticking out in on the front right side, with dark brown eyes, slightly dark tanned skin, and of medium build and height. He was dressed in blue and white sweats, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he wore white and black sneakers. He was Thomas Sizemore, or Tommy for short, a self-made punk among the class, and he seemed pretty miffed. Then again, he always seemed miffed.

He and Sarah started dating during their Freshmen year. It was a talked about topic around the two; the self-made punk boy with the billionaire pink-haired cheerleader girl. She was also a refined cheerleader who seemed she should go date a boy who would have been a rich kid too. But Thomas was one of the best Lacrosse players on the team; a star player. So it would only be reasonable that the two would be dating, as a much talked about topic or power couple. But strangely enough, when no one was watching them, they seemed to share some rather spicy intimate moments when they were alone together.

As they were walking in, the speaker phone was sounding off. As it did, a male voice spoke up, announcing current events: _ATTENTION STUDENTS. THIS IS PRINCIPAL FLOOTY REMINDING YOU THAT TODAY IS THE LAST DAY TO SIGN UP FOR THE WOLFCREEK SPRING BREAK CAMPING TRIP. REMEMBER, IT'S YOUR SPRING BREAK, WHAT BETTER WAY THAN TO SPEND IT OUTDOORS._ And then it stopped as the trio of girls walked straight to the Jocks' table.

The trio of friends looked to one another, and only two, being Mikey and Christie nodding in agreement. But Peter seemed a bit in confusion on that topic. Then the two looked to him, with scheming smirks on their faces, making him even more confused. Until Peter figured it out, as it clicked, "Oh no. no, no, no. I'm not…"

"Oh, you're coming along the camping trip," Christie insisted, as she pointed a fork at him playfully. "C'mon, it'll be fun, Peter. You could use the fresh air."

"Until I pass out," Peter stated the obvious, "You guys know I have asthma. I also have a weak immune system."

"Yeah, plus whenever you get into a fight, you're always the guy who loses," Mikey pointed out, as he was about ot eat his lunch.

Christie and Peter, reluctantly Peter, nodded in agreement, but Christine insisted, "Well, maybe if you got outdoors a little more, it might do you some good in the future."

"How?" Peter asked, a bit skeptical on that fact.

However, that argument was put to rest, as suddenly, Roland popped up from behind, and grabbed Mikey. "Well, look what we have here?" and flipped the struggling Mikey upside down, as he walked over to their table. Christie and Peter followed after them, as Roland pointed Mikey's head to the ground over a tray of spilled chili, "Looks like I found a new use for you, Corvis: a human mop."

Mikey struggled as he defied the action, "Dude! That chili's still hot! I don't wanna run the risk of my scalp burning."

As the two friends came through, they already could see a crowd of student forming around the asshole and their friend. They chanted for Mikey to mop up the mess, and didn't care who would get hurt. Ashley seemed to try and scold Roland to stop, but he wouldn't listen to her. Apparently, the guy was a sociopath who enjoyed tormenting others. And as Peter and Christie broke through, Peter had enough.

He got inot the center, and shouted, "Roland, knock it off and put him down!"

Roland didn't care for him, as he merely responded, "If he doesn't work out, you'll get yoru chance. So wait your turn."

"Put him down!"

"Wait your turn!"

"PUT HIM DOWN!"

"WAIT YOUR TURN, YOU WORMY NOBODY!"

Finally, Peter got so fed up, he finally shouted, "PUT HIM DOWN, FRANCIS!"

The crowd hushed over, as whispered gasps were sounded out. Even Peter gulped at this, as he saw Roland turn his attention to him, and dropped Mikey to the floor. Mikey scrambled back to his feet, as Christie rushed over to help him up, as all they could do was watch as Roland slowly strolled towards Peter. Peter gulped, as he nervously asked, "Shouldn't have said your real name, should I?"

"Nope. But now, I'm going to kill you. For real," Roland threatened, as he cracked his knuckles. And he delivered a powerful punch to Peter's stomach, causing Peter to hunch over and grab his stomach in agony. But Roland didn't let up, as he delivered a powerful right cross to Peter's face, sending him crashed to the ground. Peter tried to get up, but Roland kicked him in the stomach, as he threatened, "Stay down, Talbot." But Peter remained defiant, as he slowly tried to get back to his feet, but Roland kicked him harder, as he shouted, "I SAID STAY DOWN, TALBOT! YOU WEAK AND MISERABLE NOBODY!" And then proceeded to kick the snot out of the downed boy, despite him not attempting to get back up.

Until Christie ran up, and pounced at Roland, beating his shoulder in, "Leave him alone, Roland! Leave him…!"

"SHADDUP!" and threw her aside, nearly knocking her into a table. Then Roland shouted, almost daring someone, "WHO ELSE WANTS TO FIGHT ME, EH? WHO WANTS ME TO KIL THEM?!"

"ALRIGHT, ENOUGH YOU WANKERS!" somebody shouted, as the crowd backed away to make room for the authority figure. The man appeared Caucasian in appearance, early forties, physically fit for a scrawny fellow, short brown hair and brown eyes, and from his tone of voice and looks, he appeared to be of British origin. He wore a grey T-shirt, brown coat, blue jeans and brown shoes. His name was Paul Vincent, the Biology Class, as well as coach of the Lacrosse team. And boy, was he pissed at Zellinski.

He pulled Roland away roughly by his shirt, and snarled, "Roland Zellinski. What exactly did we discuss about your behavior. If you have aggression, work it on the field, not the students."

"I wasn't being aggressive," Roland lied.

"Oh, really," Coach Vincent asked, as he pointed to the recovered Christine, helping out a slowly recovering but bruised Peter. "Well, what was all this? A misunderstanding involving you being misunderstood? Or were you being a wankin' asshole? As always." Roland remained silent, obviously denying anything about all this, thinking he could get away with this. But Vincent wasn't letting it go this easily, as he shrugged, "Okay, fine. Expect to have a cold Spring Break. You're not going on the Camping trip. Instead, you'll spend it on school community service… as my janitor for the gym stadium, the locker room, and anything else I can come up with."

Roland looked appalled at that idea, and turned to Ashley to help him. However, she turned a blind eye, obviously upset that he'd act like a major asshole. Roland huffed out anger, as he seethed out, "My foster parents will tan my hyde for this, Coach."

"Well, you should have thought about that, before you attempted murder in this cafeteria, with half the staff watching you," Vincent shrugged off, and walked away, planning to make the necessary paperwork.

Once he was gone, Peter and Christine were back on their feet, with Mikey helping them both. But Roland stomped towards the trio, as he snarled, "The next chance I get… I'll kill you, Talbot." And stomped off, pushing Ashley and the others away.

Once the three were left alone, the trio gulped in fear towards one another. If there was one thing they learned during their freshmen year, you never piss off Roland Zellinski like that. The kid had a major asshole temper that couldn't be tempered with. It made him do stupid things, and he didn't care what happened. One time when someone looked at Ashley the wrong way, they ended up with their legs broken, and with almost no chance of walking again. Somehow Roland seemed to get away with it, but Coach Vincent seemed to be the only one to do something about it.

Now they knew they had to stay away for Spring Break, if they wanted to stay out of the hospital, let alone live. Peter gulped, as he shrugged, "Then again, maybe some fresh air would be nice for Spring Break. Isolation in a forest beats being in a crowded area."

Christine nodded, "Any place that doesn't have Roland Francis Zellinski around to kill us would be a paradise vacation. For life, right about now."

The three teens nodded, and remained quiet, until Mikey spoke up, "Yeah." And then pulled out a camera, "And besides, camping trip's always got half-naked girls to video."

Christie and Peter looked at him, even as Christie looked at him in disgust, until Peter pointed out, "You do realize this is Everett, Washington. The temperature's always between 60 and 40 degrees; it's always cold and rainy here."

Mikey frowned, as he denied, "Hey, I can dream, can't I?"

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**Next Chapter: Spring Break on a Full Moon; The Night Things Change**


	3. Spring Break and a Full Moon

**Disclaimer: I don't own Goosebumps; it is the sole property of R.L. Stein and Scholastic Books. Original Characters are of my own designs. Locations are real, just made up in some places, so things won't be accurate.**

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**Full Moon High**

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**Chapter 1: Spring Break on a Full Moon; The Night Things Change**

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**Forest Park**

Forest Park was the oldest public park in Everett deep in the mountains. Stretching for more than 8 miles (13 km) on hillsides overlooking the river ways of Everett, it is one of the country's largest urban forest reserves. The park, a major component of a regional system of parks and trails, covering more than 5,100 acres (2,064 ha) of mostly second-growth forest with a few patches of old growth. About 70 miles (110 km) of recreational trails, including the Wildwood Trail segment of the city's 40 Mile Loop system, crisscross the park.

As early as the 1860s, civic leaders sought to create a natural preserve in the woods near Everett. Their efforts led to the creation of a municipal park commission that in 1903 hired the Olmsted Brothers landscape architectural firm to develop a plan for parks. Acquiring land through donations, transfers from Multnomah County, and delinquent tax foreclosures, the city eventually acted on a proposal and combined parcels totaling about 4,000 acres (1,600 ha) to create the reserve. Formally dedicated in 1948, it ranked 19th in size among parks within U.S. cities, according to The Trust for Public Land.

More than 112 bird species and 62 mammal species frequent the park and its wide variety of trees and shade-loving plants. About 40 inches (1,000 mm) of rain falls on the forest each year. Many small tributaries of the Willamette River flow northeast through the woods to pipes or culverts under U.S. Route 30 at the edge of the park. One of them, Balch Creek, has a resident trout population, and another, Miller Creek, supports sea-run species, including salmon.

Threats to the park include overuse, urban traffic, encroaching development, invasive flora, and lack of maintenance money. Occasional serious crimes and more frequent minor crimes occur in the park. But as its name suggests, the park was heavily wooded, stretching on for miles, making it more of a preserve than a forest. It was home to miles of trails, a campsite, and a popular public swimming lake/creek.

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**Camp Wolfcreek**

Camp Wolfcreek was the campsite most famous for highschoolers. There were two-story cabins built there, with working plumbing and electricity, making outdoor fun a bit better than usual. The lake not far from the location was clean, with a waterfall jump to it, but made it enjoyable to kids, and teens alike. Food and drinks were available at the mess area building, not too far from the cabins. All in all, it was a lovely place to have a camping trip or party, more or less have spring break. In which that was what the bus filled with teenagers was doing here for.

As the bus parked, the door opened allowing teens to come running out. They all went to their cabins, as one teen got out last. Peter Talbot stared dejectedly as he exited the bus, and looked around the lush evergreen scenery that was all around him. He adjusted his glasses and glanced around the camp where he and his classmates would be staying for a while. He blew a loose bang away from his right eye, as he looked to where he would be staying at. All the meanwhile, he glanced at all the teen boys and girls that went into the cabins.

Going near one of the girls' cabins, he spotted three familiar girls. 00

The Beauty Trio were making their way to their cabin, without so much as batting an eye at him. Now all he had to do right now was find a place of his own. After all, he and his classmates were going to spend the next week here.

The whole thing had been their home room teacher's idea. Though the other students and their parents had initially balked at the idea of camping, he had managed to convince them all that it would be a Good Learning Experience for the Young People, and once the adults were on his side, there was no use arguing. But at least the place was doable to survive all of spring break here.

"Peter!" someone called out from one of the cabin's, "Hey, Peter! Over here!"

Peter looked on the Boys' side, and smirked as he spotted Mikey. He walked over to the cabin, as they gave each other a High Five, as Peter winked, "So, you ready for tonight? Another one of Phantom M's Wild Girl films?"

"You bet," Michael winked, as he gently shook his camera, "We've got Beach Party Babes, Shower She-Goddesses, and hopefully by tomorrow morning, we'll have Spring Break Teen Girls Gone Wet n'Wild."

As Peter unloaded his backpack on the bottom bunk bed, he turned towards his friend, and asked, "How do you manage not to get caught? The scenes you film, the accurate frames, it's like you're practically standing right next to them."

Michael shrugged, "My aunt and uncle taught me most of my techniques, and I just applied to them getting our little masterpieces. It pays to have an Aunt and Uncle who take photos of wildlife."

Peter had to chuckle about that fact of Michael's life. His Aunt and Uncle, who ahd adopted him, taught him every trick in the book about photos and film. He guessed it was a passion that Mikey had developed, growing up around the two photographers. But he silently frowned, knowing full well his family life wasn't all that great. Mikey took notice of his friend's grim expression, as he asked, "You okay, Pete? You hardly said a word since we left the school. You feelin' alright?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded, "Guess I'm just a little envious of ya, is all."

"Is this because of you and your grandpa?" Mikey asked, and from the disdained depression on Peter's face, he had hit the nail on the spot.

Truth be told to both of them, Peter and his grandfather, Sir John, didn't have the best of relationships. Once the young man had moved in with his grandpa at the age of seven, when his mother died mysteriously. Apparently, she had been mauled by a wild animal when she went to Blackmoor, England. It was because she went in search of some creature; the same creature that had killed his father when he was just a baby. And with no other living relatives, he moved in with his grandfather, who was a bit of a recluse, and quite an expert at pushing people away. So far, the only one to truly spend time with him was his grandfather's manservant, Singh. The only other person who ever spent time with him, was Mikey, and that was all the friends he's ever had. Well, except for Christine Hallmarker. Christine had been another friend of theirs, a somewhat nerd like Peter was, but Mikey knew the girl had a crush on the boy for some time, and Peter had one on her as well. The two were just… stupidly shy about it.

Peter sat down on a couch in the room, and reached down, unzipped his backpack and pulled out a thick paperback. Licking his thumb, he loosened her seat belt and flipped through the pages until she found her place.

"You brought your books with you? Peter, come on," chided Mikey, "We're in Camp Wolfcreek, and you're just gonna spend the first day… no. The _whole week_ reading?"

"I'm only going to read a couple of comics, and then hit a few novels." His friend gave him a credulous look, almost nagging him on so much reading material. "I'm just trying to pass the time," Peter assured his friend, and reminded him. "Besides, you and Christie know as well as I do, and everybody else who just tease me: I'm no good with sports. Asthma, short-breathing, and just at least fifty seconds, I pass out on the track, just from jogging. Or worse."

Mikey sighed, as he sat on the chair next to the couch in the cabin, "Yeah. Guess it's kinda stinks when you're a runt of the litter. So to speak."

"Yeah," Peter sighed, knowing full well that ever since he was born, he wasn't the most physically active, let alone as enduring or strong as the others growing up to be. A kid in their class, Thomas Sizemore, once joked that he was a runt of the litter. No matter what he did, he couldn't improve his health. The doctor's said that he was lucky enough to survive at birth. But skipping the drama, he turned to his friend, as he was fiddling and cleaning his camera. "What do you think they have planned for us anyway?" he asked, changing the topic to something better.

"You name it," said Mikey enthusiastically. "Hiking, fishing, rafting, hell, there's even an old quarry near the lake where we can go rock climbing. I was able to get my harness and a second set of climbing equipment for ya. I'll even pull you up for most of the climb."

"Oh, that sounds…exciting," Peter said. He felt a weight in the pit of his stomach. He knew right here and now, this was going to be hell.

But Mikey lit up, as he smirked, "Though for tonight, it's…"

And they both smiled, as they said together, "Ghost stories."

* * *

**That Night**

**Main Bonfire**

The Main bonfire area was just as what one would think it to be. There was a bonfire big enough to light up the area, but not enough to hurt anyone. Log seats were placed all around the area, and all the teens from Booker T High were present. Tonight was a good night for scaring… especially… when it was a full moon about.

The glowing orb known as the moon hovered in the night sky, giving the splendor of its full cycle. One fellow in particular was telling a story to everyone. There, hunched over looking all scary, like Peter and Michael, was Thomas Sizemore.

It was currently his turn to tell his story, as he was doing his best to frighten them… but to no avail. "Suddenly, they heard something down the hall, in the dark. Oooh...It came into the flashlight." Tommy uttered out as he was halfway through the ending of his story. And then he smiled evilly, trying to get their blood to run cold through their veins. "And they knew…", he then suddenly pulled over a blanket over his head to make himself look like a hooded killer, attempting to scare everyone, "…that Machete Sam was on the loose! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Everyone looked at Tommy at this point, completely unafraid and unimpressed by this one. Even Maya, who was sleeping on her back on the log. This was made evident as Christie pointed out, "I think I liked 'the Hockey-Masked killer with a machete for a hand' better than this."

Maria nodded, "I have to admit it, but I think you're starting to slip on this."

Mikey joked, "Do most ghost story rings stink such as this? Or do they stink when you tell them?"

Tommy sneered, as he shouted in anger, "Oh yeah!" He then looked around, and looked to Peter, as he jabbed, "Hey, Talbot! Why don't you tell us something spooky! Like maybe, when you hit puberty!"

Peter sighed, as he adjusted his glasses, and made his move, "Okay. I've got one…", and then looked around to everyone as he stated, "… and this is a true story that happened in Blackmoor, England."

Ashley sighed, as she nonchalantly looked at her nails, mumbling out loud, "Is this one of those 'a friend of my cousin knew some guy that this happened to' stories, Talbot? Or is it your remake of the Thing?"

"No, it happened to my grandfather… during the mysterious killings in Blackmoor, nearly fifty years ago," Peter started as everyone focused their attention to him. "It happened twenty-five years when my father was around seven. There had been numerous killings going on around Blackmoor; victims found in ditches or fields, torn to pieces, like a wild animal had torn through them. But the wounds were far too foul to be made by any beast. They said that only Man could have inflicted such rage and brutality on the bodies. Now it was only night that my Grandfather discovered him. A farmer and dear friend, along with a flock of sheep he was herding: Quinn Noddy and all his flock. Brains, guts and God-knows-what lying across the moor. And the look on Quinn's face. Like he'd been eaten alive; the poor devil choking on his own blood, as he watched whatever it was eat his own stomach and liver. Whatever did it, it was big, had claws that could cut through steel, and didn't mind a load of buckshot. After that, my grandfather went home. He melted down my ma's wedding spoons, and cast silver bullets off 'em. He wouldn't leave the house on a full moon from then on."

At that last part, Mikey looked a little scared by that, even another girl seemed a bit freaked out, as she huddled next to him. Sarah was wide awake, and a bit scared at the story she heard. Even the other students were spooked, as they huddled together. Christine, just gulped as she drew her knees close in as she shivered from the story.

Tommy, being the only one hiding behind the log, poked up as he asked, in a freaked out tone, "Wh- What did it? What did all the killing? Did they ever catch the guy? Or beast?"

Peter shrugged, "No one knows. Blackmoor remains a place of darkness, even on a full moon. But sometimes, during the full moon, you can hear the piercing how of the monstrous beast hiding in the darkness of the forest. Waiting… to strike."

After that last line, all except for Peter, huddled together in the fire. The only sounds that could be heard were the flickering of the fire, and the whistling of the wind, blowing all around them. Then suddenly, as almost everything was settling down, a howl was heard from afar.

A wolf's howl.

Immediately hearing that, everyone zoomed over to Peter, who was getting a little scared himself, as they huddled together in fright. As they trembled in fear for a moment, Thomas was the one to regain composure as he snapped back, "Pft. Nice try, Talbot."

Peter, who was a bit freaked out, mumbled, "Honestly. I only told the story; I didn't have plans for sound effects."

Mikey then stated to calm everyone down, "You're probably just jumpy from the ghost stories."

But then Christine looked to everyone, as she said, "But we all heard that; I don't think we all just heard something."

And then, they all just stopped looking at the blackened forest, as they turned around to one another and wobbled back to the fire, as Sarah whispered, "It… stopped."

Now everyone was officially freaked, out, even as some of the students began to shiver in fear. Peter even gulped at this now as he whispered, "All right… now I'm really scared."

* * *

**Next Chapter: The Night Things Changed**


	4. Bite of the Beast

**Full Moon High**

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Night Things Changed; The Bite of the Beast**

* * *

**After the Bonfire**

Everyone was walking back to their cabins, calling it quits for the night. But in reality, they were a bit freaked out by Talbot's story, and decided to just head for the cabins. The ominous howling from before only cemented their resolve on that. Walking to their cabins, Peter, Mikey, and Christine were walking together, as Christine commented, "You know, Peter. That story was actually pretty good. A little too good."

"Well, it was a true story that my grandpa once told me. One of the rare few moments he actually spent with me when I was ten," Peter shrugged. He sighed as he and Mikey reached their cabin, "Well, I don't know about you guys, but tomorrow… I'm gonna sit around, and catch-up on my comic book reading."

"And how is that different from when you're at home?" Christine asked, as she chuckled humorously. "Honestly, that's all you do: go to school, come home, go on the computer, read, and go to bed. To be honest I'm growing concerned about you, Peter. When was the last time you went outside for a walk, or rode a bike or went to any of the school dances, much less over one of our houses or something? You know, something friends do together, other than chat online and/or play RPG."

"What friends?" Peter sighed, morosely. "You know everybody at school hate me, aside from you two."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is," Peter said, sounding rather gloomy.

"What about me and Mikey?"

Peter hesitated, looking uncertain. "I…well, alright. _Two_ friends," he admitted, shrugging.

"See?" Mikey said smirking, patting his friend's back. "If you've made two, then I don't see why can't we all try and make more. Christie's a very sweet, bright, and if she took her glasses off once in a while, a hot babe to boot. You're a cool, knowledgeable and loyal to a fault bud…"

"And if Mikey wasn't such a perv, I'd have more female friends," Christine pointed out, as well as glaring at the mop-haired boy, "Speaking of which, I know you were trying to vid me in the shower last time."

"That was gonna be a personal present to my Main Man here," Mikey joked, but unknowingly caused Peter to blush in embarrassment.

"That's just the problem," sighed Peter, regaining his composure, and gently pushing away from the two. "We… _I_ stand out. I'm a nerd. An outcast. A freaky deaky geek."

Christine smiled, "Well, you may have a point."

"Christie!" Peter scowled, "Aren't you supposed to be encouraging me on "

"Kidding, kidding!" Christine said, holding her hands up, and speaking in a disarming voice. "I'm happy that you're such an excellent student and a good friend. I just, well…I just wish you'd find some other interests. Like baseball, the track, or…or lacrosse or something." She glanced over her shoulder at Mikey, who was walking back to his cabin, as he winked at her, and left the two alone. She turned back to her dear friend, as she encouraged, "To tell the truth, the only reason that I went along with you guys, and not stay home watching my scifi movies, was to expose you to some…alternative forms of recreation. Come on; give it a chance. For all you know, you might actually grow some muscle and get healthier over night. Maybe even love the outdoors as well as camping." She then shrugged, "Not to mention to get away from Roland. As a plus."

"Thanks, _mom_," snapped Peter peevishly.

"Good," she smiled… and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, surprising him. She ran towards her cabin, but stopped as she turned around, and playfully stuck her tongue out at him, "Made ya blush! Haha!" And closed the door, leaving a slightly embarrassed Peter out there to dry.

* * *

**That Night**

**Midnight  
**  
The evening sun had just set over the distant hills hours ago, painting the western sky a radiant, fiery shade of orange. The air was alive with the myriad gentle noises of the forest; the buzz of the crickets, the caw of the crows, and the whisper of the wind as it blew through the pine needles. Taken together these sounds wove a melodic cadence that soothed the mind and healed the soul.

The campsite now looked almost habitable. The empty soda cans lay crushed in a pile next to a tall evergreen. Several cabin lights had gone out around, and the roaring campfire built from stones collected from the nearby quarry. Mikey, and a disdained Thomas who shared the cabin, were sitting together on the couch, each doing their thing to pass the night away. Peter himself was nowhere to be seen.

Thomas had to mutter, "Gotta admit, best night so far." But then grumbled, "But Talbot had to make it even worse with that ghost story of his." He looked to Corvis, as he asked, "I still don't see why you and Argent have to be buddy-buddy with him. His grandpa's weird."

"I know, but Pete's an okay guy," he said, smirking.

Far off in the distance, a wolf howled, causing the two to nearly jump out of the couch.

"Hey, where's Talbot, anyway?" Tommy asked, glancing about the cabin and seeing no sign of him, not even asleep in his rack.

"He said he needed to use the restroom," Mikey answered. "He'll be back in a bit."

"Oh." Thomas sighed, but then muttered, " Face it, man: he's not an outdoors kind of guy."

"That's why Christie and I thought we'd tried to bring him out here. To toughen him up," Mikey answered.

"In case you haven't noticed, dear, he's a stick, not a lead pipe. He ain't even a sewage pipe," laughed Tommy, though something about the tone of his suggested he was only half joking.

Mikey explained, "Look…I know he's not an athlete like you, Sizemore. But me and Christie talked about it, and we wanna help him out. He's our bud; he can't live the rest of his life in just books anymore. We also knew that if we forced him in this, he'd just shrink back into his shell. We let him make the choice."

There was a pause, until Tommy asked, "So he decided to come along? And the fact that Roland's out for all your blood while he's Coach's cabana boy's just the excuse to bring him along."

Mikey shrugged, "Well, it was either that, or he had to spend his spring break in a dusty old mansion with his hermit of a grandpa."

Thomas shrugged, "Can't see how bad it is that he wouldn't have fun in Talbot Manor. That place is big enough to be a mall."

* * *

**Elsewhere**

Peter had in fact been watching the sunset from a small knoll not too far from the campsite. That is, after he had gone to the port-o-pottie to take a quick evacuation of his own. He figured that if he was going to be knee-deep in nature, he might as well see what the big fuss over the panorama was. Sure, the starry night was pretty and everything, but he didn't see what was so special about it. He couldn't grasp why someone would hike fifty miles into the wilderness just to see something they could catch on television. What was the difference? Besides, the mosquitoes, the cold, and the smell of course.

Peter sighed, shook his head, and turned back to walk back towards the camp. He just didn't get it, and he probably never would. Though he also had to clear his head from the moment a few minutes ago. What Christie did a while ago just added confusion to the poor boy's head. He and she had been friends since the First Grade, and they didn't really see each other in those ways.

His steps made soft crunching sounds as they pressed against the thick forest floor. Overhead, the stars were coming out. As he walked, Peter began to appreciate just how… quiet and dark the forest would soon become. Night had just fallen, and yet he was already having trouble seeing his hands in front of his face. In the blackness of the nascent evening the trees appeared frightfully tall, the word 'loom' certainly came to mind. It made him feel…vulnerable.

Slightly spooked by the nighttime, and in dire fear, Peter quickened his pace. The sound of his running footsteps gradually increased, until it was a steady trot. Somewhere, an owl hooted, breaking the deepening silence.

He had gone on for a minute or two when it hit him: he had no idea where he was.

* * *

**An Hour Later**

**Back at Camp**

"PETER!"

Christie waited for a response, and then cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted once more.

"PETER!"

Her cry went unanswered. She stared into the growing darkness of the forest, anxiously rubbing her palms together. Her lips were tight with concern. Suddenly, she heard someone approaching from behind. She whirled around and saw that it was Mikey and an exhausted Thomas, carrying a powerful flashlight in his right hand. The shadows around the two swayed and stretched eerily as the torch's beam swung up and down. There was a frown etched upon Mikey's ordinarily cheerful yet hidden face.

"I checked all around the campsite," he said, in a searchman manner. "No sign of him."

"How long has it been?" asked Christie, in a shaky voice.

Mikey looked down at his watch. "About an hour."

"Where could he have gotten off to?" she murmured, rubbing her forehead.

"Well, the last time I saw him, he was heading towards the port-o-potties near the parkways. It isn't far, but considering how dark it is, I suppose he could've gotten lost."

"Oh God, no," Christie whispered, almost terrified for him.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry," Thomas said, sounding rather sure. "There are other campsites out there, and plenty of people still have fires going. I'm sure he'll stumble upon one of them and find the way back."

"I don't know, I mean, we're camped on the very edge of the park," Christie pointed out, her worries never leaving her. "What if he wandered into the woods?"

"I'm…pretty sure that won't happen," Mikey shrugged a confession. "I mean… it's a fifty-fifty chance, right?"

* * *

**Back to Peter**

**Deep within the Forest  
**  
Peter's temper had dissipated long ago, replaced by mind-numbing panic. It was now nearly pitch black, save for the full moon illuminating the skies. He was lost, hungry, scared, and his feet were starting to kill him. He had already resorted to calling out for his friends, even the teachers that had accompanied them to act as chaperones, but there had been no response. For all he knew, he could be miles away from camp.

"Hello?" he shouted, trying to get a response. "Hello! Is anyone out there? Please! Anyone? Is anyone there?"

Peter stopped and leaned against a towering pine tree, gasping for breath. He had absolutely no idea what to do. Should he keep going? Should he stay in one place? Should he try to build a fire? For that matter, how could he build a fire? He lowered his head and moaned, repeatedly punching his fist against the base of the tree.

Inwardly, Peter was fairly certain that he'd come out of this unscathed. After all, it was only a medium-sized state park. There weren't supposed to be any dangerous animals in these woods, and there was bound to be a ranger or two out there. They'd rescue him tomorrow… if not before the end of the night. Yet no matter how much he reassured himself, there was still a nagging uncertainty: that unsettling but undeniable possibility that he could be in real danger. He had never experienced anything like this in his entire life. He was a complete and utter wreck at this point.

Peter stared desperately into the gloom. All he could make out were the outlines of the closest trees and a hint of starlight above. However, something was slowly beginning to form on the periphery of his limited vision. It was times like this he wished he had contact lenses other than glass lenses. Peter turned and squinted his eyes, and adjusting his glasses. It was… about the shape and size of a large dog, and it was moving towards him. Suddenly, he saw a flash of yellow eyes and two pointed ears. Peter felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. There was no way that thing could be a dog.

'Oh man, I sure hope it's a St. Bernard,' he thought.

Shivering in fright, he began to back away, very slowly. The creature stopped, apparently noticing Peter, and began matching his movement, step-for-step. Peter knew that breaking into a run would be just about the stupidest thing he could do right now, but now that the beast noticed him… he was clearly out of options. He took a deep breath, spun around, and bolted into the woods.

Leaves, sticks, and dirt were kicked up in his wake. Peter could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His feet already sore from the long walk hurt like heck. As he sprinted, he reminded himself in a huffed panic, "Definitely not a St. Bernard!"

He had no idea if the wolf was chasing him, but he was far, far too frightened to take a look. He moaned in frustration, as well as nearly about to keel over from the strain of his condition. There weren't supposed to be any big predators out here. This was Washington, and if anything all the big animals kept to the wildlife preserve. They wouldn't be foolish enough to come out near a human inhabited area. If he got out of this alive, that wildlife website that he always visited was going to receive a very nasty email.

He stopped for a moment, no longer hearing the wolf, as he leaned onto a tree, trying to slow his heart down before he passed out. He regulated his breathing, slow steady breaths, until his heart finally slowed down back to normal. He sighed, as he looked around, not seeing a sight of the creature… until heard a low growl behind him, confirming his worst fears. He broke into an all-out sprint, dodging and weaving between trees, and ignoring the burning sensation in his chest. Bushes and low hanging tree branches scratched his skin and tore at his clothes. He risked a glance behind him, and saw a huge, grayish mass rushing towards him. When he turned back around, he was greeted with a stunning blow to the head. The world blurred around him, and then faded to darkness.

…

Peter's body lay sprawled on the forest floor. His eyes were shut and his lips pressed into a slight smile, as though he were gently sleeping. However, this benign image was marred by a thin trickle of blood running down his forehead. He slowly got back onto his feet, gently trying to regain his balance on shaky legs, as he looked around, and saw no signs of the creature that had chased him.

Being naïve on it, he sighed heavily in relief, chuckling nervously, as he whispered, "I think I lost it…"

The large wolf-like creature circled the unaware boy cautiously. It sniffed the air, and then brought its nose down to Peter… and suddenly pounced at him, causing the boy to cry out in fear. The beast pushed him down forcefully to the ground, and in a quick strike, it opened its massive, tooth-lined jaw… and bit him in the neck, shoulder and left chest side. The wolf's maw was so huge, it nearly encompassed his entire head as it gnawed him roughly. Peter could feel his flesh being torn apart, exposing his muscles, as he gagged out any breath, trying to breathe in desperation. It shook him for a second, almost gently as he didn't feel the boy struggle anymore, and then lowered him back to the ground. Satisfied, it turned and disappeared into the forest.

Peter's eyelids fluttered open, as he was slowly passing out from bloodloss and the pain. Though he was barely conscious, he later swore he heard a distant voice murmuring with a sinister chuckle, "Welcome to our World of Darkness… Talbot…" before spiraling back into oblivion.

* * *

**Back at Camp**

Mikey sighed, as he put the cell phone down. He looked over at Christie, who was sitting on the steps to her cabin. Her hands were on her face.

"Well, it's a good thing I brought this thing along," he laughed.

Christie looked up and gave him a cold, hard stare. "Yeah, and I wish you would take this a little more seriously," she said angrily.

"Oh come on, he'll be OK," he protested. "The teacher said that the rangers could search the entire park in a day or two. I'll bet you he'll be with us before tomorrow night." He frowned. "Although I have to admit, this isn't like him. I mean, he wasn't too thrilled to come here, but why would he just run off?"

"Maybe he didn't," Christie dismally responded.

"What, what, WHAT?" Mikey cried suddenly, his fears already bubbling to the surface. "What do you want me to say? That some psychopath kidnapped him? That some wild animal mauled his face off?" He sighed. "At this point we really can't do anything about it. The teachers said that the rangers can't start the search until the morning, and it's too dark to leave the park. If he has any sense, and we boht know he does, he'll stay put somewhere conspicuous."

Christie remained silent.

"I'm going to bed," he muttered, and stalked off towards the tent.

When he was gone, Christie sat up and paced the campground nervously, occasionally glancing into the forest. Minutes passed, as she felt a bit uneasy for Peter. She cared for him deeply, and worried about him when she didn't know what or where he'd go. But she knew she couldn't worry like this; it wouldn't do well for him or her at all. With a defeated sigh, she turned towards her cabin, praying that Peter would be safe.

And then, she saw him.

"Peter!" she cried joyously.

Peter nodded dumbly, as he staggered into the clearing. He looked as though he had been trampled by an angry mob. His clothes were cut and torn, and his hair was dirty and disheveled. Christie rushed towards him, and gave her dear friend (and secret crush) a passionate hug. Mikey peered through a crack from his cabin's open door, and then leapt out to join them. The friends embraced their former missing buddy, talking and laughing with relief.

"Peter! Peter! Thank God you're OK!"

"Where the heck have you been, man?"

"I mean, when you disappeared, I was so worried!"

"We had the teachers call the park rangers and everything!" Mikey confessed. " I'm just glad you're back!"

Peter cleared his throat. "Uh, Mikey…"

"Yeah Man?"

"You're in your underwear."

Mikey glanced downward, and noticed he was in his boxers. Mikey chuckled embarrassed, "Oh, heh, yeah. Sorry, dude."

but just before it was a joyous reunion, Christie's voice suddenly became concerned, as her face paled with her widened eyes, "Peter… is that… blood?" she then noticed the massive blood stain from neck to shoulder, as she pulled back, "PETER! You're hurt!"

"Yeah," muttered Peter. "I hurt my head, but… I'm… I'm better now…"

"Not that!" she pleaded. "Your shoulder, chest, and neck! They've been torn up!"

Peter looked at his wounds, and took noticed, and muttered, "Oh, yeah… that too." With that said, he collapsed into a heap.

Christie and Mikey knelt down, while Christie cradled the unconscious Peter in her arms. Both were too deeply concered, to even notice the bite marks on the left side of the boy's neck and shoulder. But what they didn't know was that tonight, things would soon start to change for all of them.

* * *

**Next Chapter: Everything's Fine; A New Peter**


	5. First Night of the Luna Maiden

**Full Moon High**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Everything's Fine on the First Night; Light of the Hunt Goddess**

* * *

**Everett General Hospital**

**Six Days After the Attack**

As soon as the teachers were able to, they were informed of Peter Talbot's return and of his condition. Immediately, he was rushed to the hospital, along with Mikey and Christie to go with him. It had been over a week now, as Peter had been bed-ridden the entire time. Christie and Mikey had visited him all the time, while Christie had stayed by his side the whole time. But much to the two friend's surprise, Peter's Grandfather, Sir John, had also visited daily, keeping a vigilant eye on his own grandson. Until finally, on Saturday, he had awoken, fit as a fiddle. Now, both friends had arrived in the waiting room and waited for an hour for Peter's examination to end.

* * *

**Examination Room**

Peter sat atop the table, while he was being examined by his physician. It was an African American woman of around her mid-thirties, surprisingly slim for a woman her age, long black hair tied in a bun, brown eyes, and dressed in the usual attire for a medical physician to wear, including a labcoat and glasses. Her name was Dr. Patricia MiKalea, the Talbot family physician on call and in office. As the others waited for the examination to be over with, Mikey took the liberty to call Peter's grandfather to come over as fast as he could. In the meantime, Peter's doctor, Dr. Mikalea was examining the boy from his injuries.

The Good Doctor whistled as she examined Peter's forehead. "That was quite a nasty blow you took," she commented with a wan smile.

Peter looked up at her and shrugged, "It doesn't feel as bad as the football team using me as a tackling dummy."

Suddenly, someone burst the door open, as someone walked in. the man appeared in his sixties, a spare tire belly, a fine trimmed beard, and gray hair atop his head, a little messy at first, and had the same color eyes as Peter. He was dressed in a white button up T-shirt, black dress vest, brown pants, leather boots, and a brown trench coat. This was Sir John Talbot, Peter's grandfather, and master of Talbot Manor.

He walked past the doctor and towards Peter, as he showed concern. The first time the old man showed interest and concern for his grandchild. He walked over to him, and gently placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, and asked, "Peter. Are you alright? I heard you were attacked…"

"Ah, I'm alright, Grandpa," Peter responded, a bit surprised at his grandfather. "Really. I'm alright."

His grandpa pulled away, as he began, "I'm just glad you're alright." He looked to the doctor and asked, "How are his injuries, Doctor?"

"The strange thing is," she continued, pulling aside some of Peter's bandage to get a better view of the wound. "There really hasn't been any significant damage. Internally, I mean. A blunt blow to the head resulting in this kind of abrasion should've at least left a bruise or something, but the torn flesh on his shoulder has rapidly healed itself through the whole week. All I see is a flesh wound, and even that is healing quite rapidly." The doctor stepped towards the examining room sink and washed her gloved hands. "As for the cuts on your neck and shoulder, well, they do look like bite marks. We'll get you checked for rabies later on, but from how you described the encounter, I don't think you have much to worry about. The wolf, or whatever it was, must have taken a nip out of you before realizing you weren't on its preferred menu. No worries."

That part made Sir John worried, as he asked, "Wolf? A wolf bit him?"

"Well, I didn't really say it was a wolf, Grandpa," Peter corrected, "I said it sounded like a wolf." He noticed his grandfather go silent for a moment, and almost deep in thought. Deciding he needed to know more, he looked to the doctor. "So, about that rabies test…" he asked, nervously.

"Oh, I already took a blood sample," sniffed the doctor. "I'll have the results in soon, but again I wouldn't worry about it. If the wolf was rabid I think it would have taken a bigger chunk out you."

"Thank you doctor," Sir John smiled. "Will he be ready for school?"

"Doubtless, if the young lad thinks he's ready," the doctor responded.

Peter sighed and nodded his head, "Yeah…actually, I'm really looking forward to getting back into the grind. I'm going to need a vacation from this vacation."

The doctor laughed, "All right, I think we're done here. Be sure to contact me if anything changes."

Peter nodded, "Of course, Doc."

"Yes, of course," Sir John nodded, "Thank you, doctor. As always for your time and hard work."

His grandfather turned to her as they exited the examining room. As they were walking out of the examination Wing, they made their way twoars the Waiting Room. And there, a much surprised and relieved Mikey and Christine were waiting there. Once they saw their friend, they bolted towards him, with much questions.

"Dude, you okay?" Mikey started, as he began a string of questions, "So how bad is it? Was there any rabies? What was the animal? Did it take a big chunk out? You have any stitches? How much blood did you…?"

But he was shoved out of the way by an annoyed Christie, as she grumbled, "I think that's quite enough, Mikey." She then looked to Peter, and her annoyed gaze turned to concern and caring, as she asked, "But still, are you alright, Peter?"

Peter nodded, as he rubbed his bandaged neck and shoulder, "I'll be fine. Turns out I'm as fit as a fiddle."

Christie sighed at that, and pointed out, "You may be a string bean, but apparently you're a pretty strong healer. A wound like that, and you would've been unable to use that arm of yours."

"Yes, well… the men in the Talbot Family have always been fast healers," Sir John nodded, but looked to his grandson. "You wait here with your friends, Peter. I'll be back with Singh and the car." Peter nodded, and Sir John walked towards the exit.

After that was done and over, Peter sat down, with Mikey and Christie joining him. He sighed as he rubbed his head, "Why does this stuff happen to me?" He then placed his hands on his lap, hanging his head in annoyance, "All I seem to get after the carnage is misery."

Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand placed on his left, and felt the fingers gently wrapping themselves around it. He turned to see a girl's hand firmly but gently holding his hand, allowing their thumb to rub against the side. He looked to see who it belonged to, and saw Christie, sympathetically smiling to him, as she replied, "Well… misery loves company."

He smiled at that, and even moreso, as Mikey patted him on the back. "So, you got your wish after all," she said, smiling wryly. "Half of it, at least."

"Yeah…" Peter muttered. "I'm…really sorry about that, you guys. I know you guys were wanting to spend spring break camping."

"Sorry?" Christie said, with surprise. "You banged your head on a branch and nearly got mauled by a wild animal. I don't think you need to apologize for anything."

"But still," Peter persisted. "I'm the one who got lost, and because of that, you guys lost your vacation. We probably won't get another chance to camp until summer vacation." He then shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish. "Besides, I was…I was a bit of a jerk on the trip."

Mikey nodded, as he agreed, "Yep, you were."

"MIKEY!"

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You're not supposed to say that," he laughed.

"Well, I'm glad you noticed it," Christie chuckled. "Just be sure to pay us back somehow, alright?" She smiled. "Maybe you did get something out of this trip after all."

* * *

**Later On**

**Talbot Manor**

A fancy but old-fashioned limo-wagon drove down the countryside from the skirts of Everett. Fields of trees blocked most of the view of the city's lights, which made it a bit eerie in such. The car sped on a dirt road, leading it deeper into the woods, until finally, it came across a clearing, surrounded by a brick wall, with an iron gate, with a stylized T on both doors. The gates opened automatically, as the limo drove in, moving quickly down a lane once guarded by double rows of beech trees, but scavenger maples and tall weeds had invaded their ranks and the trees now looked like a line of become tangles where crabgrass and wild onion ran rampant. Crass shrubberies of a hundred unnamed varieties now clogged the flower beds and upswept piles of leaves lay in rotting dunes in the cobbled turnaround. Even the stone hounds and wolves that stood like gargoyles on marble pedestals along the drive were gray with dust and strangled vines.

The limo-wagon stopped, as it turned towards a fountain, placed in front of the massive castle-like mansion that was Talbot Manor. The mansion itself had an abandoned air about it. Most of the windows were dark, and a few had cracked panes, and fro one empty frame on a top floor, as Peter stepped out of the car, he could see finches flutter in, one after another, carrying twigs and worms.

Peter sighed, as he closed the door, "Home sweet home." He reached for the back to grab his bags, but someone beat him to it.

"Allow me, Master Peter," an Arabic man stated as he took the two bags. He appeared in his forties, a slightly graying beard that went down to his chest, with a small mustache to top it off. He wore a deep blue turban, loose jacket and trousers to match. This was Singh, a Sikh, butler of the house, and a dear friend of the Talbots.

"Oh no, Singh, you don't have to do that," Peter insisted.

"Peter, you're still injured from that animal attack," Sir John suddenly popped up, as he too took a bag for himself. "If I were you, until school, I'd take it easy for a while. You were nearly mauled."

Peter shook his head, as the three of them made their way up the porch stairway to the door, "I kept telling you, like I told the doctors, it wasn't that bad. Just a bump to the head and some kind of bite mark."

Sir John nodded, as Singh got the front door open, "Aye, yer probably right. Nothing wrong there. But just to be safe than sorry, I don't want my favorite grandchild to be exerting himself too soon just after a week of recovery."

As they stepped inside, Peter stiffened a chuckle, "Yeah right, I'm your _only_ grandchild."

Sir John chuckled as the three of them stepped inot the Main Stairway, "Well, all the more reason for me to be protective."

The main stairway nearly took all the main hallway, leading to both a ballroom on the left, and on the right the study room. The stairway was big enough for two rows of people to go up, down, or opposite directions. The sweeping double staircase that led to the upper landing. Between the stairways hung a tapestry depicting strange monsters and heroes from Hindu legend. Before he went up there, Peter studied it for a moment, as fascinated now as he had been as a boy, always discovering a new creature, a new brave warrior. He absently clutched his backpack with his fingers, the black band squeezing through his grip.

He sighed deeply, "You know… no matter how many times I come in this place, I'm still a bit creeped out."

Sir John nodded, "Yes. This place does carry a rather omninous aura aorund it." He then walked up the stairway, as he said, "Once you're done packing, take a good nap; dinner will be at 5, and later on, we'll talk in the study."

Peter nodded at that, but still a bit curious about the situation. His grandfather hadn't spent any time with him at all for the past ten years since he moved in with his grandfather. And now suddenly, after his little attack, his grandfather had noticed him, even talked to him for more than ten minutes, even showed concern for him. 'I should get attacked by wild animals more often,' Peter joked to himself.

* * *

**That Night**

**Study Room**

After dinner, Sir John and Peter settled down in the old study room. The study room was a man's place, with many sofas and chairs and bookshelves crammed with volumes in a dozen languages. Tables were scattered about, some bearing bottles of wine and brandy, others covered with maps, and one with an open book on astronomy. Tall windows of thick leaded glass let in filtered light, which was warmed and colored by the glow from a thick knot of logs in the fireplace. Pistols, swords and weapons of ancient design were mounted on th walls or set in cases of museum quality. But as much as it was a man's room, it was also a predator's room, with the heads of a score of animals: rhinoceroses, lions, bears, gazing fatalistically into the chamber, tiger and leopard skins on the walls, and a plaque on which were mounted claws and teeth from ten species of great hunting cats.

Peter rested on one of the couches, while his grandfather sat at a piano, just brushing his fingertips on the keys, as he stated, "So, um… how are you lessons in Drama Class, Peter?"

Peter nudged a little, ignoring the fireplace, as he looked to where his grandfather was, at the piano with a glass of scotch and ginger ale mixed into it. "They're going pretty good," Peter confessed. "Although, there were times I needed my inhaler. I always seized up during takes. Must be the lighting, or stage fright." He sighed in hopelessness, "Why'd I have to be born so weak?"

"Oh, don't fret, Peter. Strength in all of us comes to us; it's just a matter of time for it to grow," Sir John encouraged him, as he took a sip of his glass. "You know, I was surprised you took Drama as a course in high school. You know, your father was an actor once. Hamlet, he played the lead role. Though I've never understood it. Acting. Playing at being other men… but I understood he was celebrated for it. Famous for it as well. I once saw what all the fuss was about."

Peter sat up, and leaned on the arm of the couch, as he looked to his grandfather, "And?"

"If your grandmother was around with me at the time, she would have been equally proud as I was," Sir John confessed. Both turned to look up at a portrait above the fireplace. The portrait was that of a beautiful Roma woman, in a fine and beautiful gown. This was Solana Talbot, Sir John's deceased wife, and Peter's long deceased grandmother.

"She was really beautiful," Peter murmured.

Sir John nodded, as he smiled a little, "She loved your uncle and father very much."

Peter sighed, as he looked to his grandfather, and asked, "You once said she took her life when Dad was seven. Why'd she do it?"

Sir John took a long time to answer that question, until finally he said softly, "I don't know."

But Peter didn't seem satisfied with the answer, as he asked, "Was it something you did?" his grandfather turned towards the portrait, and Peter realized he had struck a nerve when Sir John didn't say a thing. "I'm sorry, Grandpa. I didn't mean to say that, or even ask a question like that," he apologized. "I just… I dotn know what to think of you most of the time. I mean, you pushed yourself away from me for ten years, and now all of a sudden, here we are, having a casual conversation."

"I'm just somebody that can't get close to anyone without causing some sort of hurt to others," Sir John confessed calmly, and then turned to face Peter, "I guess you might call it a curse upon the men in the family." He then took a sip from his glass, as he told the tale of his wife, "Your grandmother was a regal creature. I loved her dearly, and she never once gave me cause to raise my voice to her, let alone raise my hand. I miss her terribly, every single moment of every single day." Peter was about to say something, but his grandfather shook his head. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I had never met a woman like her before. This world is seldom fortunate to be granted may of her kind. A woman whose light was as burning as intense as the Moon. If we accept evolution as a truth, then she was of the kind we should be breeding, so that we move farther and farther from the savagery of our ancestors… and the savagery of our own present kind today." Sir John's eyes burned with his loss and heartache. In a softer voice, he looked to Peter, and asked, "Does that answer your question?"

Peter felt his heart shift in his chest. He never predicted his grandfather to say such a thing, let alone express such love for someone that long after they died. He sat up, and lowered his head in apology, "I'm sorry, Grandpa. I didn't mean…"

"It's quite alright, Peter. It's quite alright," Sir John reassured the boy. "One day, you'll meet a young lady like that, and I hope you're spared the tragedy I had been given." He then noticed Peter rub the spot on his shoulder to where the creature had bitten him, and asked, "Your shoulder?"

"It's just a little sore, but I think I'll live," Peter confessed, but asked, "What do you think could have done it? I thought it was a wolf."

"Do you believe it was a wolf," Sir John asked.

Peter shrugged, as he explained, "I thought so at first. I mean, it sounded like a wolf, but…" He sighed, not knowing if his grandfather would laugh or think it was insane, "Well… it moved like a man. What kind of creature could do that?"

"I honestly have no clue," Sir John said, as he turned to face the fire. He rolled his glass back and forth between his palms. "I've seen the work of a Kodiak bear. A Bengal tiger. Nature at its most vicious. But… I've seen worse back in Blackmoor."

"The Blackmoor killings?" Peter asked, reliving the stories Singh had told him, much when Peter begged him to do so. The Blackmoor killings finally ended though… with his uncle Ben and both his parents a long time ago. "I thought those were done by some lunatic."

"A man? A raving lunatic on the moor," Sir John's eyes flickered towards Peter. "When they happened, I was over the moor every inch, searching for such a subject. I would have run him down with my dogs. But we never did. And besides… the wounds were so terrible that… I think only a human being would seem capable of such wanton malevolence. Animals kill for food and protection; the Law of the Jungle, modern or forest. They aren't cruel, and the damage that was done to your uncle and parents, and to all those other men… it was very cruel. As if the suffering of the victims was as much the intention as the need to feed."

"Singh told me the locals blamed the Gypsies," Peter said.

Sir John stiffened a scoffed chuckle, as he protested, "Local people would blame everything on gypsies. They're guilty of half as much as they're blamed for and twice what you think them capable of."

Sir John paused once to glance again at the portrait of the beautiful woman that was his wife… whom he still loved… and walked out through the big glass doors that led to the patio. Peter watched him go, and he was aware that he was, in clear point of fact, seeing his grandfather for the first time. Not as a villain from all his fears. Not as a culprit of his dark imaginations. Not as a boogeyman from his deepest darkest nightmares. But his grandfather: a lonely man torn with grief, both old and new. He sat up from the couch and followed his grandfather outside.

The patio was broad and fashioned of decorative stonework from the last century. The trees beyond the patio were featureless with evening shadows, though their upper branches were painted with silver from the half-covered full moon. Sir John was bent to the eyepiece of a magnificent old telescope that was a masterwork of the lens man's art. Sir John adjusted the delicate brass knobs with practiced skill.

"_That orbed maiden with white fire laden; Whom mortals call the Moon…_" he quoted softly.

Peter walked close to him, as he cleared his throat, "I remember that poem. Mom used to recite it to me." He then recited the full poem by heart, "_That orbed maiden with white fire laden; Whom mortals call the Moon.__ Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor; by the midnight breezes strewn..._" He sighed in relief, as he smiled to his grandfather, who smiled back, "The Cloud."

Sir John nodded, as he smiled, "Very good, Peter." He then returned to the spyglass, as he murmured, "You know, your father and I always loved looking at the night sky together." He adjusted a dial on the lens, "Your father and I would stare at the moon continuously without end. And we both thought together: she exerted enormous power to those who are influenced by her."

Peter nodded, "Yeah, my mom told me that." Somewhere away in the darkened woods, and owl lifted an inquiring hoot. He scratched the back of his head and asked aloud, "You always refer to the moon as a woman. Why is that?"

"Well, mostly due to mythology," Sir John said as he bent back the eyepiece. "Her power is subtle. Smoothly employed, like a woman's. And absolute. The Goddess of the Hunt, as the old legends say."

"Grandpa…" Peter began softly, "Do you ever think back, and wish that things were different."

"Sometimes, and never," Sir John confessed, but never took his eyes off the moon, as if he were hypnotized by it. "Never look back, Peter. Never look back. The past is a wilderness of horrors."

Peter raised his eyes as he looked up at the half-covered full moon. Feeling a wave of coldness pass through him as if he'd been standing knee deep in the airless, cheerless dust of that ancient rock. He straightened up as his grandfather gestured him to look at the moon through the telescope. He bent to look, and the magic of the telescope brought the face of the moon to within arm's reach. Peter could see it with perfect clarity. Cold, powerful, luminous… and utterly desolate.

And hostile.

And for a moment, even without him knowing it, it was as if the light of the moon was pulling him in to something. And unbeknownst to him, his eyes glimmered yellow… like a wolf's eyes.

"Peter…" Sir John said, getting his attention. "You should get to bed. You may still have the weekend before school, but you should at least get your strength. Singh and I have to go out for a while and won't be back until tomorrow morning, so you'll have the Hall to yourself."

"You're going out," Peter asked.

"Just for a few errands," Sir John explained. "It'll take us a while, so we'll stop somewhere to rest and be back soon."

Peter nodded, "Oka, I um… should get some sleep." He started to walk away, as his grandfather looked at the great and icy Goddess of the Hunt.

"Peter," Sir John said, turning away from the eyeglass to see his grandson stop to see him. The two made eye contact, as he nodded to him, "I am glad you're home with me and Singh."

Peter didn't know how to respond to that at the moment. Nothing in his life had prepared him for his grandfather to say that. So he said nothing for fear of saying the wrong thing. Instead, he just nodded with a smile, as he finally said, "I'm glad to be here with you, Grandpa." And walked towards the stairway to his room.

For the first time in Peter's young life, Peter Talbot felt like he was finally home. Above him, bright in the infinite darkness, the moon watched both Talbots. Sir John turned towards the moonlight… and a similar shimmer of yellow was in his eyes as well, as he whispered, "I just pray that he doesn't suffer as I did on my _first night_."

* * *

**Late at Night**

**Peter's Room**

Peter's room was a typical room for a nerdish boy of his age. It was a simple design for his room; his bed was in the middle next to the left side of his room. His desk was on the right side with a computer and printer on top of it. At the end of the room was a circular window, big enough for a person to get out with no need to squeeze through. There were a few lounge chairs in the corner to where the window was, along with a TV, DVD Player, and a PS3 connected to it. The walls were covered in posters of great movies and plays, a thing of Peter's to collect rare shows, and a few maps of the world's greatest places to go see. It even had its own bathroom for him.

Peter was fast asleep in his bed, with three blankets covering him. For his PJs, he wore a white T-shirt and black baggy sweat pants, and white socks for his pajamas.

The clock in Peter's room read 11:58 PM. His grandfather and Singh were gone on their 'errands', or so they said, so the mansion was empty as they said it be. Just as Peter himself was lying in bed, asleep,the curtains of his bedroom window were shut, but nonetheless a faint, pale light was filtering through the cloth, softly illuminating Peter's upper body and face. Otherwise, his room was very dark and almost deathly still. Peter's head nodded uneasily on his three crumpled pillows. His right hand alternately gripped and released his bed sheets and blankets. His breathing was slowly becoming more erratic and intense. Suddenly, his eyes flashed opened.

His entire body felt incredibly hot! His hands and feet in particular felt as though they were on fire! Not only that, but he felt…awful, as though he had suddenly become very sick. Gasping for air, he threw off the blankets, revealing his pale, sweat-soaked body even through the clothes he wore. He leapt to his feet and fanned himself desperately. His exertions… if anything… only seemed to make him hotter. He was beginning to feel lightheaded as well. He stumbled to his bedroom door and out in his room. Having forgotten his glasses, the world around his was a distorted blur.

Nevertheless, he found his way into the bathroom. He fumbled for the light-switch, his hands gliding across the smooth, cool marble of the counter. When the light flickered on the world went white. He yelped and quickly shielded his aching eyes from the stinging radiance. He reached out and shut off the light. He then knelt to the floor of the bathroom, gasping for breath, fighting the urge to vomit. Minutes passed. He felt the heat within slowly dissipating from his body, but the lightheadedness remained.

With a groan, he rose to his feet and glanced around. His eyes, having adjusted to the present gloom, made out the familiar contours of his bathroom. He turned to the sink and twisted the faucet. He cupped his hands and began splashing water into his face. The cool, refreshing water did much to calm Peter's body and nerves. The heat was no longer unbearable, and the nausea was gradually going away. He sighed with relief.

It was then that he glanced at the bathroom window.

He suddenly realized that the moon was in full phase; a perfect white sphere hanging in a starry sky framed by the window. It shone into the bathroom with a gentle, alabaster glow. Strangely enough, Peter found himself staring intently at the celestial orb. He had never seen the moon more clearly in all his life. Well, perhaps he had… but he had never noticed it until now. It really was quite beautiful, just as his grandfather had told him. She did exert an enormous power to those who were fully aware of it. He thought back to the camping trip when he had watched the sunset, and began to understand how a natural phenomenon could invoke such wonder. He stood straight up and slowly walked to the window as though in a trance. He sat down on the frigid tile floor and bathed in the moonlight, a smile growing on his face.

A tingling sensation washed over Peter. One so strong, he shuddered involuntarily. He began to feel very, very hot again. His body temperature rapidly increased until it felt as though his blood was boiling. His heart throbbed wildly in his chest. Beads of perspiration ran down his reddening skin. Peter screamed in fear. The heat flowed down his arms and into his hands, intensifying at the end of his fingers, which turned bright red and pulsated as though infected. He felt an incredible tension within them, as though they were about to explode.

And they did, much to his shocked surprise.

With a blood-curdling crack all ten of his fingernails disintegrated before his eyes. The pain was so intense Peter swooned. He slowly opened his tear-filled eyes, and what he saw shocked his to the core.

He had grown claws.

Large, curled, black claws.

Claws like an animal had.

Suddenly both his hands filled with heat and began to stretch and bulge in ways that seemed impossible. His fingers elongated and partially melded together at the joints. The skin of his palms thickened, becoming dark and tough... like the pads of paws. Paws! His hands were starting to resemble humanoid paws! Peter watched in horror, unable to tear his gaze away from the metamorphosis he was undergoing.

A growing itch in his chest region finally drew his attention away from his hands. He looked down and saw that black, thick, curly smokey-gray hair had appeared on his chest. And it was spreading. The itching sensation, and the hair both a mixture of black and smokey-grey, slowly ran across his entire body. Peter wanted desperately to scratch away at this nuisance but was afraid of cutting himself with his new claws.

What little clothing he was wearing had become extremely uncomfortable. He reached down and clumsily tore off his sweatpants with his clawed hands, and then pulled off his shirt and threw it to the floor, leaving him completely naked and drenched in sweat. The encroaching fur… yes, that's what it was, fur… already encompassed his entire body. It was jet black on his shoulders, forearms and legs. But it was smokey grey from his mouth to his pelvis and inner thighs, his biceps and elbows, the bottom of his hands and feet, and on two scar marks on his greaves. Peter whimpered in disbelief.

'Oh, God! What's happening to me?' He thought in horror, as he tried to make sense of all of this.

Another wave of heat and pressure washed over him; this one far more intense than all the rest combined. Peter's body swelled with incredible energy. It seeped deep inside him, permeating his body, filling and molding it in strange, disconcerting ways. He heard his bones crack and pop as they repositioned themselves. He felt his skin tighten. A familiar pain erupted in his toes as ten more claws burst from his skin, shattering his toenails. His feet stretched a bit, and his knees bent as he assumed a slight digitigrade position, resting on the balls of his feet. At the same time his calves and thighs bulged with slim but toned, powerful muscles. This jarring development caused him to lose his balance, slipping to the hard tile floor. Grimacing in pain, Peter lifted himself up off the ground, only to realize that he assumed a four-legged stance more suited for an animal than a human. He tried to scream, but the pain only caused him to gag out coughs, and pushed himself back up upon two feet, steadying himself on the bathroom counter. Suddenly, his arms and chest jerked wildly. The change was moving into his upper body! He felt his abs tighten until they were as hard as rocks. His stomach compressed, becoming as flat as an ironing board. His biceps, triceps, and shoulders bulged with power.

His heartbeat grew faster and faster. The pressure across his body intensified, until it reached to the finale. Peter's vision blurred in the sheer intensity of the moment. The whole experience was so surreal… so impossible. After what seemed to be an eternity the pressure slackened. Peter stumbled back on his feet, shaking his head in confusion.

Just as he recovered, he felt an intense pain around his tailbone. It felt as though something sharp was trying to pierce through his flesh from within. Peter nearly quivered, as a tiny nub pushed its way out above his backside. It grew, forming a big black bushy tail. The pressure immediately traveled up his body to his head. Peter was finally able to scream, as the veins in his neck and forehead throbbed uncontrollably. His entire face cracked, and slowly began to push outwards. His nose turned glossy black and swelled. He tasted the bitter tang of blood in his mouth, as his teeth grew, becoming razor-sharp fangs and incisors. Suddenly, his still-expanding noise tingled. As he breathed in, he began to detect an astounding range of different odors all around him; some familiar, some wholly alien. Simultaneously, his ears traveled up along his temples, growing up and over his forehead, forming two demonic points. The noises around him; his grunts, moans, his breathing, his heartbeat, the sound of his feet scraping across the tile floor… all became magnified and exaggerated. Peter reeled back, as sensory overload paralyzed his already overwhelmed mind.

The transformation accelerated. His nose and jaw jutted out from his face in tandem, forming a short muzzle. His glistening fangs lengthened, overlapping his blackening gums. His eyes , once a deep blue, swirled and changed to a deep, feral yellow. Peter screamed, his voice becoming rapidly more deep and guttural, until it resembled the howl of a wild animal. Peter took one final breath, and ROARED; all his pain, confusion, fear, and frustration exploding from his body like a supernova. His world went hot, scorching white, and then slowly faded to darkness.

* * *

**Ten Minutes Later**

The first sensation he experienced when he awoke, was a sickly sweet aroma.

His nose twitched, sniffing, taking in the air around it. Peter shuddered as numerous powerful scents, most of them revolting, reached his nostrils. Gradually, his nose became habituated to the stink. Peter's eyes fluttered open and shut. Awareness returned to him.

Everything felt so…weird. Peter was having difficulty giving it words. His mind was awash with half-finished thoughts, desires, and sensations - half-dreaming, half-awake. He vaguely recalled something about fur and claws, but the notion soon drifted away.

Slowly, his thoughts became more organized and lucid. His body stirred. He tasted blood in his mouth. Then, he remembered. His yellow, wild eyes shot open, darting back and forth.

Peter stumbled to his feet in a daze. He knew that something was wrong, but he still couldn't remember what. His eyes wandered over the sight of the bathroom sink, the soap bottle, the toilet, the mirror…

And there, staring back at him in shock, was a black and smoky grey, wolf-like creature standing on its hind legs.

Peter screamed, "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" But then he immediately cupped his mouth.

It suddenly hit him over the head like a lead pipe. His voice… it was deeper now.

He looked down at his hands. They were now a mixture of human hands and hairy paws, adorned with razor-sharp talons.

'No,' he paled in thought to this.

Peter stumbled back in fear, slipping on the slick bathroom floor and landing on his butt. A sharp pain shot through his backside, as he hit the ground, causing him to yelp. He instinctively twisted his body around, and stared down at his rear. He had bruised his tail.

'My tail?' he thought as he reached from behind him… and gently stroke a furry stock sticking out from atop his butt.

He had a tail! "I have a tail," he asked himself to be sure. He looked at it again, as it wagged to him, almost saying hi to him. He finally accepted this rather annoyingly, as he grumbled, "I have a tail."

Not only that, he was covered in jet black and smoky grey fur!

Peter quickly scrambled to his feet. It wasn't easy, even though his legs retained their human shape, but his feet had stretched out a bit, so it was hard for him having to stand on digitigrade legs. Shivering in terror, he slowly looked back into the mirror. The wolf stared back at him.

He was it. He was this creature. _The_ creature. A single word floated to the surface of his conscious mind.

"Werewolf," he said, as he allowed those words to escape his wolf mouth. "I'm... a freakin' werewolf."

Peter stood there in shock; his mind reeled in confusion and fear. So many questions were going on through his head at this point. How was this possible? How did this happen? He shook his head and silently prayed that it all had to be a dream.

...But it wasn't, as he looked in the mirror. Somehow, he knew with every fiber of his being that this was no illusion. He was now a werewolf.

His lips quivering, Peter stepped back into a corner of the room, crouched down to his knees, wrapped his arms around his legs, and shut his eyes. He just sat there, huddling in the corner for well over a minute. He was deathly afraid, and he didn't scare easy from something like this.

'Does…does this mean that I'll…I'll go nuts?' he thought with much dread, after remembering all those horror movies about werewolves. 'Go on a rampage? Slaughter innocent townsfolk? Kill my best friends and all who are dear to me, and I won't control any of it?' His thoughts became more frantic with every passing.

Another minute passed. Nothing happened.

'I…I feel different,' Peter thought, anxiously. 'But…I don't feel angry or anything. I just feel…different.'

Very different, in fact. Every movement of his transformed body, no matter how slight, awakened a new sensation, both wonderful and frightening at the same time. The biggest change was his skin. Being covered by fur was beyond words. He could feel it press against his legs and armpits, as he rubbed them together. He could detect the slightest breeze in the air around him. It was strangely intoxicating, rather amazing and exciting. The next biggest adjustment was his body as a whole. His mind was unused to this form; it still thought he was human. His bones, muscles, ears, nose, legs, and arms all felt out of place. Yet, these feelings of inconsistency were slowly fading away. It was as though some new 'werewolf' part of his brain was taking over, or more likely… awakening.

'I guess it's true what Vin Diesel said in Pitch Black,' Peter thought as he looked at himself in the mirror. 'We have a primitive/animal side to us after all. I guess we just need to wake it up.'

The process wasn't invasive or frightening at all, though; it felt perfectly natural, almost welcome. Next was his tail. It took him a while to locate the muscles controlling it, and even longer to master them. It was incredibly strange, having your very own tail. It was especially strange having to wag it in the air, while his butt remained perfectly still. Gradually, though, he became comfortable with his new appendage.

'Hmmm...' he thought to himself. 'Guess this isn't all that bad.'

Peter's fear of himself gradually waned, replaced by an intense curiosity. He rose to his feet, much more smoothly this time, and stepped towards the mirror. Hos toe claws made little clicking noises on the tile floor, as he approached the counter. Once more, he looked and saw the black and grey, male wolf creature staring at back at him. It was odd, though. All the monster movies always portrayed werewolves as hideous, drooling monstrosities of flesh and fur. Peter didn't look anything like that. He looked like, well…what you would get if you took the body of a human and the body of a wolf and melded them together; his canine and human characteristics complimented each other perfectly.

He was, in fact, bot beautiful and handsome.

'Really, really handsome,' Peter thought, amazed, and rather smug about it, as he cupped his chin, and gave a dashing smirk to himself in the mirror. He looked at himself around every angle, and nodded in reassurance, "Man, I am a sexy beast alright. Eat yer heart out, Roland. Let's see you get any girls with these kind of looks." But then grumbled as the reality bit him back, "If they're all furry fans, that is."

But he forgot all about the woes, as he continued to admire himself in the mirror again. The transformation had also enhanced his build. His skinny arms had been replaced by smooth, fur-covered bulks of toned muscle. His chicken legs now looked powerful and firm, like a runner's legs. Despite his increased mass, he looked to appear to have a medium small build. His chest smooth and tight, and his abs were tight as a drum. He had grown, and Peter gasped at this, to at least seven feet in height.

"Whoa!" Peter breathed.

He blinked. Oh yeah, his voice… he had forgotten it had changed as well. He looked at himself in the mirror, and spoke.

"My name is Peter. Peter Talbot," intoned the werewolf before him. "Testing. One, two, and three. This is only a test."

Peter almost jumped this time. It still sounded like him, but there were new undertones. He sounded much deeper, much stronger. He had to smirk at this; to him, it was kind of cool. "Whoa, this is my voice," he said with astonishment, and chuckled, "Whoa."

Now utterly fascinated by his new self, Peter turned his attention to his face. His head was decidedly more wolf-like than any other part of his body. It was covered in a short, fine layer of black fur that shone in the moonlight. His nose and jaw formed a short, sleek muzzle, covered in smoky grey fur. His ears were now pointed tufts that twitched in the direction of the slightest sound. Despite all this, it was not the head of a wolf. For one thing, his muzzle was not complete. The contours of his face were gentle and smooth. His yellow eyes shone with intelligence and energy. Finally, the hair on his head had not been replaced by fur. As a matter of fact, it had gotten longer in the back down to his neck, but remained short in the front. His messy cut had remained the same, but the hair was transformed into a more luxurious ebony tone. He sighed happily, as he caressed his new mane. More than anything else in the world, boys like him would kill just to have their hair just like this.

"Maybe…maybe this isn't so bad," Peter said to himself.

He now felt remarkably calm. he was, however, beginning to wonder what he was going to do next. His stomach growled, providing him with an answer.

He was hungry. Ravenously hungry. And cooped up bored.

* * *

**Next Chapter: First Night on the Hunt; Answers and Secret with the Talbots**


	6. First Night in the Woods

**Full Moon High**

* * *

**Chapter 5:**** First Night on the Hunt; Answers and Secret with the Talbots**

* * *

**Talbot Manor**

**Main Hall**

**Stairway**

Peter carefully made his way down the stairs that led into the main hallway. His padded feet sunk deeply into the dark burgundy carpet, under his ponderous weight. Because the steps were so small relative to his size, he was forced to adapt a short, shuffling pace. A stride rather unsuited to his massive, muscular legs. His clawed hands gripped the polished wood rail cautiously; although he was beginning to master his new body's motor controls, he really didn't want to take any chances.

Clearly, staircases were not designed with werewolves in mind. And this matter was made clear, as he lost his step and fell down the stairs. He crashed into each step, making a comical grunt sound with every Ow, Oof, and Ugh he made with every step he crashed on. Until finally, he crashed face first into the floor, with his legs hanging above his head, and his tail in his face. The grace and poise of the wolf leaving, now was just an awkward wolf with a stumbled streak of clumsiness.

Peter blew his tail out of his muzzled face, and grumbled, "If there were other werewolves around, and if they saw this, especially the girls, they'd be howling at this. Especially the girls."

he got back onto his feet, and righted himself, as he looked around, seeing no one there. It then occurred to him again, as he bonked his forehead, "Duh! Grandpa and Singh are out for the night. Nobody's around." He then proceeded to explore the mansion in his new Lupine form.

In truth, this hardly bothered Peter. He was far too busy exploring his enhanced senses. He continuously sniffed the air in an almost a trance-like state, sampling the amazing buffet of scents and aromas he was now privy to. Some he recognized immediately: soap, deodorant, Singh's dishes, bleach, apples, grass, and many more. Others were new to him, but he intuitively knew what they were: the musky smell of human sweat, the pungent, metallic-burning stench of electrical wires, the subtle, slightly chemical aroma of polyester, and the cauldron of gut-churning odors wafting from the bathroom.

'Yeah, definitely gotta watch out for those smells,' he thought to himself about the odors emanating from the bathrooms.

Some were completely unidentifiable. Curiously, Peter found that if he focused on a single scent, it often broke into several parts. The smell of wood, for instance, had at least three 'component' scents to it. It was rather absolutely incredible. He could have easily spent the entire evening just wandering around the entire mansion, smelling everything in sight.

Peter looked around exploring with his surroundings, as he descended into the hallway. There was something… off about the lighting in the house. It was enough to give him pause. He glanced up at the ceiling lamp, at the base of the staircase. It didn't appear to be giving off any illumination at all. He checked the switch besides him, and found to his surprise, that the chandelier lamp above the main doorway was turned off. Given that it was the only source of light, the hall should have been pitch black.

Then, it hit him: he could see in the dark! Only in black and white and shades of gray, it seemed, but the acuity of his vision was nearly perfect. And another realization hit him: he didn't need glasses anymore! Peter chuckled happily, waving his right paw in front of his face, no longer seeing in a world of shapes and blurs without the use of lenses.

His sense of hearing had greatly improved as well. His triangular ears were like two miniature radio dishes, twitching this way and that to pick up the softest of sounds. Peter found that the average mansion home, no matter how big and spacious it was out in the country, could be quite noisy at night to a keen enough ear. He could hear the buzz of the outdoor electrical lights on the grounds, the sudden cracks and drones of the old house settling, the constant rumble of the air conditioning, the water heater, the winds whistling up in the attic floor, and the refrigerator.

'Mmmmm. The fridge…' Peter rubbed his furry stomach. 'Might as well. I'm pretty sure Singh must have some leftovers from dinner.'

* * *

**Kitchen  
**  
The wolf-boy trotted into the galley-sized kitchen; he just couldn't keep his appetite waiting any longer. Peter figured that being a werewolf must mean his metabolism was way beyond the norm. he felt like he could eat an entire truck load of food and got gain weight, nor even get a stomachache from it all. He bent over and opened the refrigerator door with his clawed hands. The room was softly illuminated by the white glow of the huge refrigerator/freezer lamp. Hundreds of new smells assailed Peter's senses. He licked his chops in eager anticipation.

Peter carefully scanned the various bottles, cans, boxes, and foodstuffs arrayed before him. His usual snack of choice was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or one of Singh's dishes at times when he was really hungry. But for some reason, that didn't sound too appealing to him now. What he really wanted was…meat: juicy, tender, mouth-watering meat. And _lots_ of it. This was certainly a peculiar craving for him, as he was very nearly a vegetarian, but he didn't question his newfound tastes for a second. He started with a packet of lunchmeat. He tore open the flimsy paper covering, and ate the entire thing down in a single gulp. The instant the meat touched his tongue, his entire mouth tingled. Overcome by sudden, desperate hunger Peter savagely shoved aside a dozen or so bottles, and reached further back into the fridge. He ripped open a package of Oscar Meyer bologna with his sharp teeth and devoured its contents. He then dove in even further - irately tossing aside anything that didn't have the slightest trace of meat in it. Bottles, cans, bags, and other associated items fell behind him, bursting open and splattering food and juice across the waxed kitchen floor. He opened the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, and found a raw tri-tip steak marinating in a pan of Chaka's Sauce. And next to it, was a container containing one of Singh's masterpieces, that would have made him gag before, Smoked Eel.

'Yes! Jackpot,' he smirked at his findings.

He grabbed the tantalizing meals, one at a time, and took a massive bite out of it. Thick, red juice squirted from between his teeth as he chewed. Peter smiled wickedly. It was delicious! He consumed the entire steak and eel in only two more bites.

Satiated for the moment, Peter stood up - shaking his long lupine head to rid himself of the bits of food that had fallen into his fur and mane during his little midnight feast. He glanced back at the broken bottles and scattered food items behind him.

'Oops,' he blushed. But then, he shrugged it off, 'Well, I was pretty hungry. '

Ordinarily, Peter would have freaked out at the sight of such a mess, especially given that his grandfather would be waking up in the morning to find the galley in such a state. But instead, he felt strangely calm and carefree. He could clean up the floor later on, and tell his grandfather that the refrigerator had lost power over the night.

'No worries,' he started chuckling, staring down to admire his sleek, muscular body.

Peter still couldn't believe that this was really him. That he had actually become a werewolf, and that he was starting to like it. He sighed deeply and leaned up against the kitchen door, eyes shut. He slowly rolled his neck while stretching his long, toned arms over his head. He then flexed his powerful biceps in an exaggerated, macho fashion, breaking into laughter soon after at the sheer silliness of it. Never before had he felt so in tune with his body.

It was about then that he felt this…well, warmth growing inside him. It was a kind of extraordinary confidence; a total acceptance of his current shape. The sensation was a little unsettling to him at first, but gradually, Peter grew to like it. All of his cares and worries, mostly his worries, slowly drifted away, replaced by the exciting new prospects of his life to come. He began to feel restless. He stepped out of the kitchen and into the dining room, which was adjacent to the Study Room that led to the court yards. When he caught sight of the full moon through the patio window doors, he froze mid-step. He stood at attention, utterly transfixed by the hoary white sphere.

'It's so beautiful…' Peter thought dreamily. 'No wonder I was so fixated on the Moon. Like Grandpa said, 'The Goddess of the Hunt favors those who understand her power'.'

Almost unconsciously, he lifted his head up and howled softly. His paws immediately flew to his mouth. Had he just done that? It felt so…normal, like a yawn. He shrugged with a smile. 'Oh well, when in Rome,' he thought to himself, as he howled again, this time more freely and loudly.

As moonlight continued to shine down upon him, he began to feel a little…wild. Energy was rapidly filling his body. He shivered and fell down to four feet, growling menacingly, reveling in his newfound strength. He glanced through the lower patio window and into the night. The Full Moon was calling to him.

Slightly alarmed by all this, Peter shook his head, as though trying to recover from a stupor. What were these new feelings? What was happening to him? Was this how it started? Was this the point where the victim of the curse lost control to the beast within? He clutched his head, on his knees and clenched his eyes tightly, as he tried to shake such fears. He didn't want that! And yet…

…And yet, he didn't feel enraged or bloodthirsty or like hurting anyone. The left eye opened up, looking around for any signs or whatnot, and then the other eye. He relaxed a little, realizing nothing was happening to him, at least nothing to indicate he'd be a monster.

He just felt… full of boundless energy and the need to stretch his newfound form. He wanted to get out of this stuffy old mansion, and run in the moonlight. He wanted to feel the dirt beneath his feet and the wind blowing through his fur. He wanted to hear the sounds of the forest and the smells of the sweet scent of pine trees. It seemed a waste, almost a travesty, to just stand around when there was a whole world out there, just waiting to be explored. It was a yearning he could no longer deny.

He remembered there was a wildlife preserve only three blocks away from Talbot Manor. It would be the perfect place for him to spend the evening. The young wolf-boy opened the screen door and sprinted out into the moonlit night.

* * *

**Later On**

**Outside**

Peter had encountered great difficulty putting into words the sensations he had experienced since becoming a werewolf, and was beginning to understand why this was so. No words could adequately describe them. How could they? Words were human things, and what he was experiencing was beyond human ken. The only thing he knew for certain was that it felt absolutely glorious. He was no longer human, but neither was he a wolf… he was a combination of the two; the best of both worlds. He enjoyed the perspective of an animal, while retaining his human insight.

Peter had to cut through the main highway street, and through the forest, just to get to the park. The risk of being caught was frightening yet strangely exciting as well. He was almost disappointed when he made it to the edge of the woods, without so much of a light being turned on or a dog barking. In hindsight, this really wasn't too surprising; Peter ran as softly as a cat on his thick, padded lupine feet. When he finally arrived at the edge of the woods, he felt his heart soar with joy. Thousands of new, interesting scents wafted in the evening breeze. His ears couldn't keep up with the endless multitude of sounds emanating from the forest. He felt…at home. Shivering with excitement, Peter entered the preserve.

* * *

**Wildlife Preserve**

It was as if he had dove underwater. The forest milieu engulfed every one of his five senses. There were so many details, so many different smells, sights, and sounds; so alien and yet so familiar and welcome. Completely overwhelmed, Peter did the first thing that came to his mind: he ran. At first, it was a persistent jog on two legs, but as he traveled further and further into the woods, he fell to all fours and broke into a trot, and eventually, an all-out sprint. His powerful leg muscles pumped up and down like pistons, accelerating him to incredible speeds. Towering evergreens, verdant bushes, and tall grass shot past him, as he sped furiously through the forest. He was going at least fifteen miles-an-hour, yet he had barely broken a sweat. Given an open field, he probably could have run twenty, thirty, maybe even forty miles an hour!

Never before had he felt so _powerful_._ So free. So Alive._

* * *

**An Hour Later  
**  
Time blurred. By the time Peter had to stop to rest, he could have very well been in the next county. He panted, exhausted, hungry, but happy; his long red tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He took a deep breath, savoring the crisp evening air. He glanced about, taking in every detail of his forest surroundings. Suddenly, his keen, pointed ears perked up. They made out the telltale trickle of water not too far off. Feeling thirsty, Peter trotted in the direction of the sound, and was soon rewarded with the sight of a burbling brook. He bent over on his knees, and started lapping at the surprisingly clear and refreshing water. He reached down with cupped paws, and splashed some of the water into his face, licking his black glossy nose, as quivering beads of water ran down his muzzle. His thirst quenched, Peter sighed and lay down onto his stomach, and rolled over onto his back. He let his arms stretch out to the sides, and allowed his legs to dangle out, letting his elongated feet wiggle his wolf toes and claws in the air, and his tail dust the ground as it shook with glee. He brought his right hand out, combing his hair out with his claws, smirking that he'd never need a comb again. His eyes darted upward at the moon, as he was lost in thought, gazing at the giant glowing orb up in space, orbiting the Earth along with the stars peering down upon them. Peter was lucky to have gotten out now; he had never seen a view like this.

And as he watched the 'free show', thoughts began swarming in his head. 'How'd this happen,' Peter wondered thoughtfully. 'This just seems utterly impossible…but here I am now. Maybe…maybe I've died and gone to heaven.'

It didn't seem like such a wild supposition actually; who knew what lay beyond heaven and earth. Perhaps he had been killed back in the park, and was now living out some long forgotten fantasy of his in the afterlife. Everything seemed so perfect… so idyllic. He thought back to the creature that had attacked him. Assuming he wasn't dead or in a coma, it must have been a werewolf as well. So…did that mean there were more werewolves out there? Packs out there in the world? Perhaps there was a hidden population of werewolves living all over the world. Would they find him? Would_ he_ find them? There were just so many questions he wanted to ask, but didn't know where or who to ask for these answers. Peter shook his head, chuckling. Even if the truth were never revealed to him, he really wouldn't mind; he could live his entire life in complete ignorance of the gifts bestowed upon him and would still be content.

Peter was amazed at how relaxed he was. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the starry sky with his deep, expressive yellow eyes. He traced familiar constellations with a long, betaloned finger. Even though his grandfather kept his distance, at time, he'd teach him to recognize them when he was very little, and somehow the knowledge had stuck.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of yellow eyes were watching him from far away. Deep in the woods the topaz orbs watched the relaxed werewolf boy, almost as if he was keeping an eye on Peter.

* * *

**Morning  
**

_Peter…_

_Peter…_

_Peter…_

The first thing he felt was a sharp prod at his left shoulder. Even as someone whispered his name, "Peter… "

Peter's eyes opened and met the stinging radiance of the morning sun. He groaned and shifted his body. It felt as though he was sleeping in a tree; a hole in a massive tree, so to speak. He looked up. He was lying naked in a massive tree, huddled nest in a big bed of roots that seemed to form a cave. He remembered this tree, the Old Oak Tree. It grew on the grounds of Talbot Manor, and was one of his favorite play spots, when he was little, playing with Mikey and Christie.

Peter glanced down. He made out the familiar sight of his pink scrawny form. He raised his hands; they were soft, delicate, padless appendages once again. The night was over, and he was human again. Strange… he was almost disappointed. He sat there staring blankly until he remembered what happened last night.

"Oh yeah, I changed into a werewolf," muttered Peter, a trace of irony in his voice.

"You certainly did, Peter," a familiar voice spoke out to him, grabbing his attention.

Peter looked up from his spot… and there, holding a robe, was his grandfather, Sir John. The look on his face wasn't one of anger at a situation like this, or one of surprise. It was more of a calm proudness, as if something he did impressed his grandfather.

"Crap," Peter breathed, rubbing her forehead.

"Don't be," Sir John nodded, "You went your first night without killing a human at all. Much better than _my_ first time."

Peter groaned from pins and needles, as he rubbed his neck. But stopped as the words his grandfather muttered sunk in, as he looked up to him in disbelief, "Your first time?" Sir John nodded, a smile still on his face, as Peter figured it out, "Then that means you're a…?"

"Werewolf?" Sir John asked, making Peter certain, as the older gentleman handed him the robe, "Lycan, Man-Wolf, Wolfman, the unholy Dogs of Satan?" but he stroked his beard, as he mumbled, "Though, I think that last one was a bit unfair to us, don't you think?" As Peter stood up and dressed himself, his grandfather saw the look of confusion in his face, until Sir John walked up to him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, leading them both back to the mansion, "I think it's time we talked, Peter."

* * *

**Later On**

**Study Room**

In the Study Room, Sir John sat in a chair, as Peter, now fully dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans, sipped a can of soda. The two had remained quiet for the moment, eve as Singh walked in with two bowls of soup for the two of them. Even as such, none of them went for the soup, as they calmly but peacefully looked to each other for answers. Well, it was Peter who was needing the questions answered. And now, he had someone who knew all of them, as this morning he realized that his grandfather… was in fact… a werewolf, like him. They had remained quiet for a few minutes, until Sir John spoke up.

"I suppose, eh… you have many questions to ask," Sir John started, but then answered in the form of a question, "But I think you already know what the first question to be answered is, am I right?"

Peter nodded, as he asked, "So how did you… um?"

"Become a werewolf?" Sir John asked, as he clasped his palms together, as he mused on how to answer this question. "Well, I think you know by now there are two ways a werewolf is created: they are either born, or made. In my case, I was made." He leaned back in his chair, as he began with his origin tale, "I contracted the disease, if at all it is a disease, back when I was no younger than my early twenties, right in the time your father and uncle were both seven. It was way back when I was a hunter for the thrill of the hunt with a good rifle… before the damn endangered species laws had come up, due to us not caring about nature itself." He then shook his head, as he continued, "Anyway, I had received the curse… Gift. Received the gift/curse back in India, in the Hindu Koch. The natives directed me and a hunting party to a hidden cave way up in the mountains, where no soul dared to venture. Where, according to legend, lived a very strange creature that the people dared not hunt due to it being unkillable by mortal man and weapon. And after a week of hiking, climbing, searching and surviving… I had found the cave. And in it, the strange creature that everyone feared to hunt."

"A werewolf?" Peter asked, as he calmly took a sip.

Sir John nodded, but went on, "Well, um… at first, it wasn't in appearance, the creature you'd picture. It was actually a boy; a wild feral boy no younger than you are now, Peter, whom was like us, but in the middle of his transformation. At first, I thought it was an orphan someone had left to die up in the mountains. So going against my warnings and better judgment, I decided to try and reach out to help him. Little did I realize that by doing so, invited trouble. As he attacked me with such a ferocity and power that could only belong to the strongest animal you'd find in the jungle…" He then pulled up his left sleeve, and pointed to a part of his forearm, as he finished, "… and bit me right here." He then rolled his sleeve back down, and continued with the story, "So after treating my arm, I went back down the mountains, returned with my party, thinking I had been made the butt of a joke."

Sir John chuckled at the very memory of that experience, but after a few seconds, his expression soured, and turned to sorrow, as he went back ot the story, "I soon learned the truth, otherwise. On my first Full Moon." And sighed deeply, knowing full well that Peter wouldn't like what would come next, "When I returned home…"

Peter stared at him with a growing horror, that was far bigger and more terrible than the story his grandfather was telling him. The revulsion and heartbreak threatened to tear open the poor boy's chest, as he breathed, "Grandma…" Sir John waited, as Peter looked at hi with dread, "She didn't kill herself that night, did she?" Sir John's expression became more sorrowful, as Peter finished, "It was you, wasn't it?"

Aftef a moment of silence, Sir John answered, "Yes. And I have often regretted that I didn't have the restraint or control that night, that you had last night."

Peter wanted to dislodge the truth, but he accepted it, realizing there was more danger to the gift/curse that he had been given. And finally asked, "That's why you moved Dad and Uncle Ben out of the house to my Great Aunt in America. To protect tehm."

"And to kill myself without them knowing," Sir John finished, earning a shocked look on the boy's face, as he went on, "But I found that was difficult to do…" He picked up one of the knives from the bowls, and to Peter's horror, sliced his forearm open.

As the blood gushed out, Peter jumped up to get a paper towel, "GRANDPA! WHY'D YOU…?!" But stopped, as he saw the sight before him. Sir John's arm stopped bleeding almost immediately… and the cut had disappeared, without leaving a scar, or one noticeable to be seen. Peter stood there for a moment, and then asked in amazement, "We heal faster?" And sat back down, as Sir John continued.

"Aye, that we do, my young pup," Sir John answered, as he scratched his head, and went on. "But we still have the occasional weaknesses: silver, fire, killing us by removing our heads or hearts. Even though, yes, we heal much faster than ordinary humans. Like that chap in the comics you read; the one with the metal claws and all." After he straightened out his hair, he continued, "So after realizing I couldn't kill myself, every full moon, I locked myself in a sort of cage to restrain myself. But even I found that to be impossible, and bad things started happening."

Peter then pieced together another mystery never solved, "The Blackmoor killings… that was you?"

Sir John nodded, "Aye, wasn't too proud of that, either. So when I realized I couldn't cage the creature, I decided to try and find a way to cure myself. I traveled all over the world looking for answers; Romania, Paris, Africa, Egypt, even America and Canada." It was then that Sir John's expression seemed to go from sorrow to hope, as he explained, "And after much research, I learned that the Werewolves we've come to know weren't always the monsters that were depicted in campfire stories and horror pictures… they're actually more amazing and honorable creatures than Man has even considered."

"Werewolves? Noble creatures?" Peter thought aloud, not sure if this made any sense at all. But then he thought to himself, "Then again, last night, I didn't feel at all lustful for blood. Just for a deer I wanted to eat." He frowned a bit, almost grimacing at that memory, "I'm never gonna watch Bambi the same ever again."

Sir John had to chuckle at that, as he went on, "Despite what we're told or led to believe, werewolves had lived among mankind for generations. Maybe countless millennia. Even here in Washington." Peter was amazed by this tidbit of facts, as Sir John went on, "Monsters? Only those who view their gift as a curse, and treat it otherwise. Even by those who choose to forsake their humanity in the lust for immortality. But as much as any human being could be… Anger, hate… can turn us into that or any normal human. But in my travels, I found a Native American tribe, and met her."

"Her?" Peter asked.

"Kaia, a female werewolf whose profession was a natural healer," Sir John explained, "And when I saw her transform in the moonlight…" Sir John smiled a little, "You couldn't have imagined how beautiful she was, the body of a wolf and woman mixed together, but in that she had shown me her heart and mind remained the same." He then looked to his grandson and confessed, "So I had stayed with the tribe, and learned their ways and teachings; learning to control my changes as well as my urges. Able to transform without the use of the moon, and controlling the Beast that was now awake inside of me. And after nearly ten years, I went in search of your father and uncle, but right after I had moved my estate here in Washington." He then sighed deeply, as he massaged his brow, "But then I had learned that your uncle and father, now full grown men, and your father married your mother, nine months pregnant with you, my boy, had gone back to England in search of me. But after the moment I had found you and your mother, carrying you in her arms, we had found that a telegram from Blackmoor that they had found your father's body in a ditch, having been torn to pieces."

"Another werewolf in Blackmoor? So if my father was killed, what happened to Uncle Ben? What happened to my mom," Peter asked, even more desperate to knowing the answers.

Sir John took a breath, and answered, "Well, after the constables couldn't find your uncle's body, he had gone missing, at least they assumed. So your mother left you in my care when you were about seven. But… she never returned."

Peter let all this sink in now, as he sighed deeply, running his fingers through his hair, "And all those years of isolation. You were just trying to keep me out of this. To let me live a normal life." But then he just thought of something, "That creature on that night, the one that bit me. That wasn't you, was it?"

Sir John nodded, as he stood up and walked over to his grandson, "It's come to my attention there's a pack in Washington, probably building more members to its group than you or I could imagine." As Peter stood up, Sir John looked to him, as he concluded, "I guess after all this, all this lies and deception… you must hate me for…"

But suddenly, to Sir John's surprise, Peter hugged, him, as the boy nearly choked up, "I could never hate you. You're my grandpa. I'm just happy that you did all this just because you cared."

For a moment, Sir John was speechless… but then smiled as he returned the hug, and patted his grandson on the back, "You can't imagine how much I care about family, my young pup." After the hug, Sir John slung his arm around his grandboy, and smirked, "I have a lot to teach you next week, my boy."

Peter smirked, as they both walked out the room, and replied, "Boy, if I could tell Mikey and Christie all about this, they'd be flippin' like crazy."

* * *

**Next Chapter: A New Peter In School; Marking Territory and Being Strong**


End file.
